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In Anne McCaffrey's New York Times bestselling DRAGONSEYE,
join Weyrleaders, Holders, and Craftmasters in the creation of the legendary Star Stones and the teaching ballads of Pern!
It's been two-hundred years since the deadly Thread fell like rain upon Pern, devouring everything in its path. No one alive remembers that first horrific onslaught and no one believes in its return--except for the dragonriders. For two centuries they have been practicing and training, passing down from generation to generation the formidable Threadfighting techniques.
Now the ominous signs are appearing: the violent winter storms and volcanic eruptions that are said to herald the approach of the Red Star and its lethal spawn. But one stubborn Lord Holder, Chalkin of Bitra, refuses to believe--and that disbelief could spell disaster. So as the dragonriders desperately train to face a terrifying enemy, they and the other Lord Holders must find a way to deal with Chalkin--before history repeats itself and unleashes its virulence on all of Pern. . . .
his life—although he had to have his shoulder wound stitched—but P’tero knew that was incidental in the sequence of the attack. Both Sith and Ormonth had suffered from the fangs and claws of the attacking felines, for the creatures had not been easily quelled. Meranath nursed a bite on her left forearm and a slash on her cheek. P’tero hadn’t yet been able to look Zulaya in the eye. V’last’s Collith’s worst injuries were to his forearm, gashed to the bone by the powerful hind legs of the female
“M’grandsir’s grandsir came to Bitra with the then holder,” the man said, his eyes nervously going from one Weyrleader to the other. He kept wiggling his bandaged fingers, though N’ran had assured him the pain and itch had been dulled by fellis and numbweed. “I’m Brookie, m’woman’s Ferina. We farmed it since. Never no reason to complain, though the Holder keeps asking for more tithe and there’s only so much comes out of any acre, no matter who tills it. But he’d the right.” “Not to take our sow,
if we knew who will not be here next year this time,” she added. “But it’d be nice to know that they were here.” “How much longer, Iantine?” Zulaya said plaintively. The fingers of the hand she had resting on her thigh twitched. “I can’t feel my feet or my left hand anymore.” Iantine gave an exaggerated sigh and laid down the palette, scratching his head with the now free hand as he swished the fine brush in the jar on the table. “Sorry, Zulaya. You should by rights have had a break some time
side. Now back again. Do the eyes seem to follow you?” Zulaya gave a little shake, widening her eyes. “They do. How do you contrive that? I must say, I’m not so sure I like me watching everything I do.” K’vin chuckled. “You won’t, but your presence hanging in the Lower Cavern may spur the lazy to complete their tasks more quickly.” “I’m not sure I like that idea any more than having me leering at me up here.” She turned to the table, mostly covered by Iantine’s paraphernalia. “I had klah sent
they?” K’vin asked. “One has delivered prematurely, but she and the babe will be all right. The others … well, Tisha’s doing what she can … getting them to talk it all out before it festers too much in their minds.” “They can swear out warrants against the guards—” Iantine began. “They have,” Zulaya said in a harsh tone, her smile unpleasant. “And we have the guards. As soon as the women feel strong enough to testify, we’re convening a court here. And M’shall wants to try the murderers he’s