By S. M. Stirling
Within the 10th yr of The switch, the survivors in western Oregon have discovered tips on how to reside in a global with out know-how. yet a disagreement among the forces of these who may rebuild the area peacefully and the scary Protector, who will use no matter what capability at his command to increase his strength, threatens to plunge the total quarter into open conflict.
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Additional resources for A Meeting at Corvallis: A Novel of the Change (Dies the Fire)
It's a comfort to have you Dunedain taking up residence in this stretch of forest. " Alleyne called to her. "This one's no bandit," he said, as he stripped off a man's sword belt and tossed it aside. It was the man Hordle had shot. Blood welled out around the broken arrow-shaft, but he clutched it and glared hatred at her. Another young face, a little younger than her own, but neatly shaved; when Alleyne pulled off the coif—a mail-covered, tight-fitting leather hood—his lightbrown hair was moderately long in front, cropped like a crew cut behind the ears.
I … I … he came at me and then turned back, and I … " she said, lapsing into English. A bandit was on the trackway not far in front of her, trying to pull himself off it with his hands; an arrow stood jerking in his spine, and his legs were limp. " Astrid called, pleased. A memory of some satisfaction teased at her for a moment. "That's good work for your first fight! Algareb cu! " The girl stared at her, eyes wide, her mouth opening and closing. "Don't let him suffer, Crystal," she said impatiently; the bandit collapsed and lay motionless save for the heaving of his chest, eyes blank as his fingers scrabbled feebly in the mud.
Staying with friends in town would be an imposition, and besides that give political ammunition to the friends' rivals. " Staff from Larsdalen had gone on several days ahead to prepare the Bearkiller consulate for them, and the windows were bright and welcoming, with woodsmoke drifting pungent from the brick chimneys. Hugo Zeppelt crowded out onto the veranda and bellowed greetings as he windmilled his arms: "It's the tall poppies! G'day, sport—good to see yer! " He was the sort who could be a crowd all on his own, a short, stocky balding man with a glossy brown beard going gray.
A Meeting at Corvallis: A Novel of the Change (Dies the Fire) by S. M. Stirling