By S. M. Stirling
Within the 10th 12 months of The switch, the survivors in western Oregon have discovered find out how to dwell in an international with out know-how. yet a war of words among the forces of these who might rebuild the area peacefully and the scary Protector, who will use no matter what ability at his command to increase his strength, threatens to plunge the full area into open war.
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Additional info for A Meeting at Corvallis: A Novel of the Change (Dies the Fire)
Hordle's bow snapped; the bodkin point slammed into the shield and the shaft punched through the metal and wood, stripping its feathers to flutter to the ground as it did. The man pivoted as if he'd been hit in the shoulder with a sledgehammer, and it must have felt much like that. At close range, a heavy bow could smash a bodkin point right through even the best armor. This went through shield and arm and hauberk, snapping the links of the riveted mail like cloth, then through the shoulder bone and out the other side of the hauberk as well.
Those heavy lancers are hanging over us like a sledgehammer and his logistics problems are the only thing that's keeping us from being squashed—" He picked up a walnut between the thumb and first two fingers of his right hand, his sword hand, and pressed. The shell cracked and fragments scattered across the white linen tablecloth. "—like that. " The Corvallan militia officer winced. "All right, that's the first item. " "Different view of a similar problem. The Valley's getting to have bandits the way a dead rabbit has blowfly maggots.
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. A blunt face with an old scar on one cheek, and gray-blue eyes. Beneath the armor he was broad-shouldered and thick-armed, not skinny-scrawny like most of the outlaw gang.
A Meeting at Corvallis: A Novel of the Change (Dies the Fire) by S. M. Stirling