I ignored the questions in the eyes of the groom as I lowered the grisly parcel and turned the horse in for care and maintenance. My cloak could not really conceal the nature of its contents as I slung the guts over my shoulder and stamped off toward the rear entrance to the palace. Hell would soon be demanding its paycheck.　I skirted the exercise area and made my way to the trail that led toward the southern end of the palace gardens. Fewer eyes along that route. I would still be spotted, but it would be a lot less awkward than going in the front way, where things are always busy. Damn....　

　Acknowledgments　First and foremost, to my friend and editor, Jason Kaufman, for working so hard on this project and for truly understanding what this book is all about. And to the inparable Heide Lange-tireless champion of The Da Vinci Code, agent extraordinaire, and trusted friend.　I cannot fully express my gratitude to the exceptional team at Doubleday, for their generosity, faith, and superb guidance. Thank you especially to Bill Thomas and Steve Rubin, who believed in this book from the start. My thanks also to the initial core of early in-house supporters, headed by Michael Palgon, Suza　

　THE RED CARPET　　THERE are moments of great luxury in the life of a secret agent. There are assignments on which he is required to act the part of a very rich man; occasions when he takes refuge in good living to efface the memory of danger and the shadow of death; and times when, as was now the case, he is a guest in the territory of an allied Secret Service.　From the moment the BOAC Stratocruiser taxied up to the International Air Terminal at Idlewild, James Bond was treated like royalty.　When he left the aircraft with the other passengers he had resigned himself to the notorious purgatory 　

　 The Danger in Dreams　　 Thomas Covenant was talking in his sleep. At times he knew what he was doing; the broken pieces of his voice penetrated his stupor dimly, like flickers of innocence. But he could not rouse himself-the weight of his exhaustion was too great. He babbled like millions of people before him, whole or ill, true or false. But in his case there was no one to hear. He would not have been more alone if he had been the last dreamer left alive.　 When the shrill demand of the phone cut through him, he woke up wailing.　 For a moment after he threw himself upright in bed, he c　

Anne McCaffreyIntroductionOurs not to ponder what were fair in Life,But, finding what may be,Make it fair up to our means.　　When mankind first discovered Pern, third planet of the sun Rukbat, in the Sagittarian Sector, they paid little attention to the eccentric orbit of another satellite in the system.　　Settling the new planet, adjusting to its differences, the colonists spread out across the southern, most hospitable continent. Then disaster struck in the form of a rain of mycorrhizoid organisms, which voraciously devoured all but stone, metal, and water. The initial losses were staggering.　

　"The Captive"　Chapter One　She sat by the creek, half-hidden in lush grasses. Carefully she twined purple summer flowers into her single dark brown braid, and dabbled bare feet in the rushing water. Stems and crushed blooms littered the coarse yellow gown she wore and damp earth stained the garment, but she paid it no mind. She was purpose-fully intent on her work, for if she allowed her thoughts to range freely she would be overtaken by the knowledge and the hope that he still might e.　A songbird called from the forest behind and she glanced up, smiling at the delicate melody. Then her atten　

CHAPTER 1 - RUMBLINGS AND DREAMS 8CHAPTER 2 - VISIONS AND HORIZONS 13CHAPTER 3 - EXPLORATIONS 19CHAPTER 4 - INTRODUCTIONS 24CHAPTER 5 - GETTING CLOSE 30CHAPTER 6 - BUT NOT TOO CLOSE 37CHAPTER 7 - SIMMERING 43CHAPTER 8 - THE DISH 48CHAPTER 9 - SPIRITS 53CHAPTER 10 - BOLT FROM THE BLUE 59CHAPTER 11 - HAND JIVE 65CHAPTER 12 - HANDOFF 67CHAPTER 13 - COLLEGIALITY 72CHAPTER 14 - DANGER SIGNAL 78CHAPTER 15 - MEETING PLACE 82CHAPTER 16 - A FUR HAT FOR THE WINTER 88CHAPTER 17 - FLASH TRAFFIC 94CHAPTER 18 - CLASSICAL MUSIC 100...　

An Empty RoadThe Wheel of Time turns, and Ages e and pass, leaving memories that bee legend. Legend fades to myth, and even myth is long forgotten when the Age that gave it birth es again. In one Age, called the Third Age by some, an Age yet to e, an Age long past, a wind rose in the Mountains of Mist. The wind was not the beginning. There are neither beginnings nor endings to the turning of the Wheel of Time. But it was a beginning.Born below the ever cloud-capped peaks that gave the mountains their name, the wind blew east, out across the Sand Hills, once the shore of a great ocean, before 　

　Acknowledgments　The authors would like to acknowledge mander Stephen Littfin, United States Naval Reserve, for his invaluable help with the naval aspects of The Ice Limit. Our deep gratitude also goes out to Michael Tusiani and Captain Emilio Fernandez Sierra, who corrected various tanker-related elements of the manuscript. We would also like to thank Tim Tiernan for his advice on metallurgy and physics, the meteorite hunter Charlie Snell of Santa Fe for information on how meteorite hunters actually operate, and Frank Ryle, senior structural engineer at Ove Arup & Partners. We also want to e　

　　THEY WERE WAITING as I stepped through the door into the taverno: three of them, preadult Yavanni, roughly the size of Brahma bulls, looming over me from both sides of the entryway. Big, eager-eyed, and territorial, they were on the prowl and looking for an excuse to squash something soft.　From all indications, it looked like that something was going to be me.　I stopped short just inside the door, and as it swung closed against my back I caught a faint whiff of turpentine from the direction of my would-be assailants. Which meant that along with being young and brash, they were also tanked t　

And he put on the garments of vengeance for clothing,and was clad with zeal for a cloak.Isaiah 59:17Edmund Loris, once the Archbishop of Valoret and Primate of All Gwynedd, stared out to sea through the salt-smeared windowpanes of his tower prison and allowed himself a thin smile. The rare display of self-indulgence did nothing to diminish the fury of the wind shrilling at the ill-fitted glass, but the letter secreted in the breviary under his arm gave its own grim fort. The offer was princely, befitting even the exalted status he had enjoyed before his fall.Exhaling softly of his long-hoarde　

　Clinch padded to the kitchen and fixed himself a pot of coffee, four eggs scrambled (with ketchup), a quarter-pound of Jimmy Dean sausage, and two slices of whole-wheat toast with grape jam. As he ate, he listened to the radio for a weather report. The temperature outside was forty-one degrees, humidity thirty-five percent, wind blowing from the northeast at seven miles per hour. According to the weatherman, thick fog lay on the highway between Harney and Lake Jesup. Robert Clinch loved to drive in the fog because it gave him a chance to use the amber fog lights on his new Blazer truck. The 　

1 - The Slow Fuse 32 - Odd Man In 83 - Correlation of Forces 244 - Maskirovka 325 - Sailors and Spooks 386 - The Watchers 477 - Initial Observations 528 - Further Observations 619 - A Final Look 6410 - Remember, Remember 6911 - Order of Battle 7712 - Funeral Arrangements 8213. - The Strangers Arrive and Depart 8614 - Gas 9815 - The Bastion Gambit 10816 - Last Moves/First Moves 12117 - The Frisbees of Dreamland 12618 - Polar Glory 13419 - Journeys End/Journeys Begin 15120 - The Dance of the Vampires 16721 - Nordic Hammer 18822- Ripostes 20723 - Returns 218...　

　　　　　　1.　　　　Fingers of lightning tore holes in the black skies as an angry cloudburst drenched the surrealistic landscape. It was 3 A.M. on a cold, wet morning in late November 1967. and the little houses scattered along the dirt road winding through the hills of West Virginia were all dark. Some seemed unoccupied and in the final stages of decay. Others were unpainted, neglected, forlorn. The whole setting was like the opening scene of a Grade B horror film from the 1930s.　　　　Along the road there came a stranger in a land where strangers were rare and suspect. He walked up to the door of a c　

　This novel is dedicated to Stan, Christopher, Michele and Howard; to Rosario and Patrice; to Pamela and Elaine; and to Niccolo.　This novel is dedicated by Vittorio to the people of Florence, Italy.　　　1　WHO I AM, WHY I WRITE, WHAT IS TO E　　WHEN I was a small boy I had a terrible dream. I dreamt I held in my arms the severed heads of my younger brother I and sister. They were quick still, and mute, with big fluttering eyes, and reddened cheeks, and so horrified was I that I could make no more of a sound than they could. The dream came true.　But no one will weep for me or for them. They have be　

Years and years later, I still start in the deepest part of night with his agonized face before me. And always, in these helpless dreams, I am helpless to ease his suffering.　　I will tell the tale then, in hope the last ghosts may be put to rest, if such a thing can ever happen in this place where there are more ghosts than living souls. But you will have to listen closely - this is a tale that the teller herself does not fully understand.　　I will tell you of Lord Sulis, my famous stepfather.　　I will tell you what the witch foretold to me.　　I will tell you of the love that I had and I lost..