Read more
Zusatztext “Wondrous.”—Amazing Stories “A wonderful mix of alternative history! postapocalyptic fiction! and classical fantasy genres…filled with intense action and plausible military strategy.”—PNC–Minnesota Bureau “S. M. Stirling develops characters that readers can relate to on a personal level.”—SFRevu Informationen zum Autor S. M. Stirling is the author of many science fiction and fantasy novels, including the Novels of the Change ( The Golden Princess , Lord of Mountains , The Tears of the Sun , The High King of Montival , The Sword of the Lady , The Scourge of God , and The Sunrise Lands ). Klappentext Rudi Mackenzie has won the battle that expelled the enemy from the new High Kingdom of Montival. Now he must free the people who live in the state once known as Idaho from occupation by the legions of the Church Universal and Triumphant and pursue them to their lair over the mountains. There he will finally confront the forces behind the Church—the Powers of the Void. Yet even a victory will not end the conflict forever. The Powers of the Void are malevolent and infinitely patient! and the struggle is one that involves the entire world. They threaten not only Rudi in the present! but also the future represented by his children! Órlaith and John. Rudi knows this. And as his heir Princess Órlaith grows up in the shadow of her famous father! she also realizes that the enemy will do anything to see that she does not live to fulfill her parents' dream.... Seven Devils Mountains (Formerly western Idaho) High Kingdom of Montival (Formerly western North America) June 12th, Change Year 26/2024 AD I am so fucked , Pilot Officer Alyssa Larsson thought, as the glider hit a pocket of cold air, shocking and utterly unexpected. The nose went down and she had a feeling like her stomach was floating up into her throat, like skiing down a steep slope and going over a bump into a jump. Like falling, in other words. Get out of this pocket, fast! Dive out! training and reflex said. She did. Her hands and feet moved on the controls of the glider with delicate precision, coaxing the last ounce of performance out of the Glaser–Dirk 100. Air whistled by, the loudest thing in the profound silence of the sky; the cockpit was paradoxically stuffy and smelled of lubricants, ancient plastic and fresher leather and fear–sweat. The falling–sled sensation went away, but she’d gone down three or four hundred crucial feet. Her head whipped around, and she saw uncomfortably high ground all around her, a situation that had gone from chancy to bad all at once. This was unfamiliar territory, known only from the map—that was the whole point of reconnaissance flying, but it made things a lot more dangerous. Over the country she knew well the spots for likely lift were all as familiar as the feel of her bootlaces. Here, not so much. Of course, I know where the nearest three landing points are. Only now I can’t get to any of them. She was over dense forest, with a saw–toothed ridge of nearly vertical rock directly ahead; she could get to it, but not over it to the steep river–valley beyond. Alyssa shoved the goggles up on the forehead of her leather helmet, hiding the snarling face–on bear’s head worked into the hide there. Her eyes peered at the air over the ridge. Shit. No birds. Birds were a good way to find air moving upward; lots of them didn’t like to flap if they could avoid it. So probably no updraft directly ahead. She was sweating and her mouth was dry, but there was no time to be afraid. Her hand moved on the stick, very gently, no rudder, just the shallowest of banking turns to cruise along the face of the ridge looking for a spot where there was an updraft. No joy. The aircraft...
