Margaret Weis & Tracy Hickman - Dragons of Winter Night

V1.0

Scanned by TokyoDawn 21st June 2001

A bloody OCR Nightmare....print quality was terrible, so lots of ocr mistakes.

I was going to abandon it but I bought this book just to scan so I carried on.

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v2.0

Proofed by ... 12st February 2002

A bloody proofing nightmare. there are still lots of things to correct and a

few pages missing, but at least the text is more readable now.

To my parents, Dr. and Mrs. Harold R. Hickman, who taught me what true honor

is - Tracy Raye Hickman

To my parents, Frances and George Weis, who gave me a gift more precious than

life: the love of books - Margaret Weis

Penguin Books Ltd, 27 Wrights Lane, London W8 5RZ (Publishing and Editorial)

and Harmondsworth, Middlesex, England (Distribution and Warehouse) Viking

Penguin Inc., 40 West 23rd Street, New York, New York room, USA Penguin Books

Australia Ltd, Ringwood, Victoria, Australia Penguin Books Canada Ltd, 2801

John Street, Markham, Ontario, Canada L3R 1B4 Penguin Books (NZ) Ltd, 18z-n9o

Wairau Road, Auckland 10 New Zealand

First published by TSR, Inc. 1985 Distributed to the book trade in the USA by

Random House, Inc. and in Canada by Random House of Canada Ltd Distributed in

the UK by TSR UK Ltd Distributed to the toy and hobby trade by regional

distributors Published in Penguin Books 1986 Reprinted 1986 (twice), 1987

(three times)

DRAGONLANCE is a trademark owned by TSR, Inc. All DRAGONLANCE characters and

the distinctive likenesses thereof are trademarks of TSR, Inc.

DUNGEONS & DRAGONS and ADVANCED DUNGEONS & DRAGONS are registered trademarks

owned by TSR, Inc.

All characters in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons,

living or dead, is purely coincidental

We gratefully acknowledge the help of the authors of the ADVANCED DUNGEONS AND

DRAGONS(r) DRAGONLANCE role-playing adventure game modules: Douglas Niles,

DRAGONS OF ICE; Jeff Grubb, DRAGONS OF LIGHT; and Laura Hickman, co-author,

DRAGONS OF WAR. Finally, to Michael: Est Sularus oth Mithas

Printed and bound in Great Britain by Cox & Wyman Ltd, Reading

Except in the United States of America, this book is sold subject to the

condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, re-sold,

hired out, or otherwise circulated without the publisher's prior consent in

any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and

without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the

subsequent purchaser.

The winter winds raged outside, but within the caverns of the mountain dwarves

beneath the Kharolis Mountains, the fury of the storm was not felt. As the

Thane called for silence among the assembled dwarves and humans, a dwarven

bard stepped forward to do homage to the companions.

SONG OF THE NINE HEROES

From the north came danger, as we knew it would:

In the vanguard of winter, a dragon's dance

Unraveled the land, until out of the forest,

Out of the plains they came, from the mothering earth,

The sky unreckoned before them.

Nine they were, under the three moons,

Under the autumn twilight:

As the world declined, they arose

Into the heart of the story.

One from a garden of stone arising,

From dwarf-halls, from weather and wisdom,

Where the heart and mind tide unquestioned

In the untapped vein of the hand.

In his fathering arms, the spirit gathered.

Nine they were, under the three moons,

Under the autumn twilight:

As the world declined,they arose

Into the heart of the story.

One from a haven of breezes descending,

Light in the handling air

To the waving meadows, the kender's country,

Where the grain out of smallness arises itself

To grow green and golden and green again.

Nine they were, under the three moons,

Under the autumn twilight:

As the world declined, they arose

Into the heart of the story.

The next from the plains, the long land's keeping,

Nurtured in distance, horizons of nothing.

Bearing a staff she came, and a burden

Of mercy and light converged in her hand:

Beating the wounds of the world, she came.

Nine they were, under the three moons,

Under the autumn twilight:

As the world declined, they arose

Into the heart of the story.

The next from the plains, in the moon's shadow,

Through custom, through ritual, trailing the moon

Where her phases, her wax and her wane, controlled

The tide of his blood, and his warrior's hand

Ascended through hierarchies of space into light.

Nine they were, under the three moons,

Under the autumn twilight:

As the world declined, they arose

Into the heart of the story.

One within absences, known by departures,

The dark swordswoman at the heart of fire:

Her glories the space between words,

The cradlesong recollected in age,

Recalled at the edge of awakening and thought.

Nine they were, under the three moons,

Under the autumn twilight:

As the world declined, they arose

Into the heart of the story.

One in the heart of honor, formed by the sword,

By the centuries' flight of the kingfisher over the land,

By Solamnia ruined and risen, rising again

When the heart ascends into duty.

As it dances, the sword is forever an heirloom.

Nine they were, under the three moons,

Under the autumn twilight:

As the world declined, they arose

Into the heart of the story.

The next in a simple light a brother to darkness,

Letting the sword hand try all subtleties,

Even the intricate webs of the heart. His thoughts

Are pools disrupted in changing wind

He cannot see their bottom.

Nine they were, under the three moons,

Under the autumn twilight:

As the world declined, they arose

Into the heart of the story.

The next the leader, half-elven, betrayed

As the twining blood pulls asunder the land,

The forests, the worlds of elves and men.

Called into bravery, but fearing for love,

And fearing that, called into both, he does nothing.

Nine they were, under the three moons,

Under the autumn twilight:

As the world declined, they arose

Into the heart of the story.

The last from the darkness, breathing the night

Where the abstract stars hide a nest of words,

Where the body endures the wound of numbers,

Surrendered to knowledge, until, unable to bless,

His blessing falls on the low, the benighted.

Nine they were, under the three moons,

Under the autumn twilight:

As the world declined, they arose

Into the heart of the story.

Joined by others they were in the telling:

A graceless girl, graced beyond graces;

A princess of seeds and saplings, called to the forest;

An ancient weaver of accidents;

Nor can we say who the story will gather.

Nine they were, under the three moons,

Under the autumn twilight:

As the world declined, they arose

Into the hear of the story.

From the north came danger, as we knew it would:

In encampments of winter, the dragon's sleep

Has settled the land, but out of the forest,

Out of the plain they come, from the mothering earth,

Defining the sky before them.

Nine they were, under the three moons,

Under the autumn twilight:

As the world declined, they arose

Into the heart of the story.

The Hammer

"The Hammer of Kharas!"

The great Hall of Audience of the King of the Mountain Dwarves echoed with the

triumphal announcement. It was followed by wild cheering, the deep booming

voices of the dwarves mingling with the slightly higher-pitched shouts of the

humans as the huge doors at the rear of the Hall were thrown open and Elistan,

cleric of Paladine, entered.

Although the bowl-shaped Hall was large, even by dwarven standards, it was

crammed to capacity. Nearly all of the eight hundred refugees from Pax Tharkas

lined the walls, while the dwarves packed onto the carved stone benches below.

Elistan appeared at the foot of a long central aisle, the giant war hammer

held reverently in his hands. The shouts increased at the sight of the cleric

of Paladine in his white robes, the sound booming against the great vault of

the ceiling and reverberating through the hall until it seemed that the ground

shook with the vibrations.

Tanis winced as the noise made his head throb. He was stifled in the crowd. He

didn't like being underground anyway and, although the ceiling was so high

that the top soared beyond the blazing torchlight and disappeared into shadow,

the half-elf felt enclosed, trapped.

"I'll be glad when this is over;" he muttered to Sturm, standing next to him.

Sturm, always melancholy, seemed even darker and more brooding than usual. "I

don't approve of this, Tanis," he muttered, folding his arms across the bright

metal of his antique breastplate.

"I know;" said Tanis irritably. "You've said it, not once, but several times.

It's too late now. There's nothing to be done but make the best of it."

The end of his sentence was lost in another resounding cheer as Elistan raised

the Hammer above his head, showing it to the crowd before beginning the walk

down the aisle. Tanis put his hand on his forehead. He was growing dizzy as

the cool underground cavern heated up from the mass of bodies.

Elistan started to walk down the aisle. Rising to greet him on a dais in the

center of the Hall was Hornfel, Thane of the Hylar dwarves. Spaced behind the

dwarf were seven carved stone thrones, all of them now empty. Hornfel stood

before the seventh throne, the most magnificent, the throne for the King of

Thorbardin. Lang empty, it would be occupied once more, as Hornfel accepted

the Hammer of Kharas. The return of this ancient relic was a singular triumph

for Hornfel. Since his thanedom was now in possession of the coveted Hammer,

he could unite the rival dwarven thanes under his leadership.

" We fought to recover that Hammer," Sturm said slowly, his eyes upon the

gleaming weapon. "The legendary Hammer of Kharas. Used to forge the

dragonlances. Lost for hundreds of years, found again, and lost once more. And

now given to the dwarves" he said in disgust.

"It was given to the dwarves once before," Tanis reminded him wearily, feeling

sweat trickle down his forehead. "Have Flint tell you the tale, if you've

forgotten. At any rate, it is truly theirs now."

Elistan had arrived at the foot of the stone dais where the Thane, dressed in

the heavy robes and massive gold chains dwarves loved, awaited him. Elistan

knelt at the foot of the dais, a politic gesture, for otherwise the tall,

muscular cleric would stand face-to-face with the dwarf, despite the fact that

the dais was a good three feet off the ground. The dwarves cheered mightily at

this. The humans were, Tanis noticed, more subdued, some muttering among

themselves, not liking the sight of their leader abasing himself.

"Accept this gift of our people-" Elistan's words were lost in another cheer

from the dwarves.

"Gift!" Sturm snorted. "Ransom is nearer the mark."

"In return for which," Elistan continued when he could be heard, "we thank the

dwarves for their generous gift of a place to live within their kingdom."

"For the right to be sealed in a tomb..." Sturm muttered.

"And we pledge our support to the dwarves if the war should come upon us!"

Elistan shouted.

Cheering resounded throughout the chamber, increasing as Thane Hornfel bent to

receive the Hammer. The dwarves stamped and whistled, most climbing up on the

stone benches.

Tanis began to feel nauseated. He glanced around. They would never be missed.

Hornfel would speak; so would each of the other six Thanes, not to mention the

members of the Highseekers Council. The half-elf touched Sturm on the arm,

motioning to the knight to follow him. The two walked silently from the Hall,

bending low to get through a narrow archway. Although still underground in the

massive dwarven city, at least they were away from the noise, out in the cool

night air.

"Are you all right?" Sturm asked, noticing Tanis's pallor beneath his beard.

The half-elf gulped draughts of cool air.

"I am now," Tanis said, flushing in shame at his weakness. "It was the heat...

and the noise:"

"Well, we'll be out of here soon," Sturm said. "depending, of course, on

whether or not the Council of Highseekers votes to let us go to Tarsis."

"Oh, there's no doubt how they'll vote," Tanis said, shrugging. "Elistan is

clearly in control, now that he's led the people to a place of safety. None of

the Highseekers dares oppose him-at least to his face. No, my friend, within a

month's time perhaps, we'll be setting sail in one of the white-winged ships

of Tarsis the Beautiful."

"Without the Hammer of Kharas," Sturm added bitterly. Softly, he began to

quote. " 'And so if was told that the Knights took the golden Hammer, the

Hammer blessed by the great god Paladine and given to the One of the Silver

Arm so that he might forge the Dragonlance of Huma, Dragonbane, and gave the

Hammer to the dwarf they called Kharas, or Knight, for his extraordinary valor

and honor in battle. And he kept Kharas for his name. And the Hammer of Kharas

passed into the dwarven kingdom with assurances from the dwarves that it

should be brought forth again at need-"

"It has been brought forth," Tanis said, straggling to contain his rising

anger. He had heard that quotation entirely too many times!

"It has been brought forth and will be left behind!" Sturm bit the words. "We

might have taken it to Solamnia, used it to forge our own dragonlances."

"And you would be another Huma, riding to glory, the Dragonlance in your

hand!" Tanis's control snapped. "Meanwhile you'd let eight hundred people

die-"

"No, I would not have let them die!" Sturm shouted in a towering rage. "The

first clue we have to the dragonlances and you sell it for-"

Both men stopped arguing abruptly, suddenly aware of a shadow creeping from

the darker shadows surrounding them.

"Shirak" whispered a voice, and a bright light flared, gleaming from a crystal

ball clutched in the golden, disembodied claw of a dragon atop a plain, wooden

staff. The light illuminated the red robes of a magic-user.

The young mage walked toward the two, leaning upon has staff, coughing

slightly. The light from his staff shone upon a skeletal face, with glistening

metallic gold skin drawn tightly over fine bones. His eyes gleamed golden.

"Raistlin!" said Tanis, his voice tight. "Is there something you want?"

Raistlin did not seem at all bothered by the angry looks both men cast him,

apparently well accustomed to the fact that few felt comfortable in his

presence or wanted him around.

He stopped before the two. Stretching forth his frail hand, the mage spoke,

"Akular-alan suh Tagolann Jistrathar." and a pale image of a weapon shimmered

into being as Tanis and Sturm watched in astonishment.

It was a footman's lance, nearly twelve feet long. The point was made of pure

silver, barbed and gleaming, the shaft crafted of polished wood. The kip was

steel, designed to be thrust into the ground.

"It's beautiful!" Tanis gasped. "What is it?"

"A dragonlance." Raistlin answered.

Holding the lance in his hand, the mage stepped between the two, who stood

aside to let him pass as if unwilling to be touched by him. Their eyes were on

the lance. Then Raistlin turned and held it out to Sturm.

"There is your dragonlance, knight," Raistlin hissed, "without benefit of the

Hammer or the Silver Arm. Will you ride with it into glory, remembering that,

for Huma, with glory came death?"

Sturm's eyes flashed. He caught his breath in awe as he reached out to take

hold of the dragonlance. To his amazement, his hand passed right through it!

The dragonlance vanished, even as he touched it.

"More of your tricks!" he snarled. Spinning on his heel, he stalked away,

choking in anger.

"If you meant that as a joke, Raistlin," Tanis said quietly, "it wasn't

funny."

"A joke?" the mage whispered. His strange golden eyes followed the knight as

Sturm walked into the thick blackness of the dwarven city beneath the

mountain. "You should know me better, Tanis."

The mage laughed-the weird laughter Tanis had heard only once before. Then,

bowing sardonically to the half-elf, Raistlin disappeared, following the

knight into the shadows.

Book I

White-ringed ships. Hope lies across the Plains of Dust.

Tanis Half-Elven sat in the meeting of the Council of Highseekers and

listened, frowning. Though officially the false religion of the Seekers was

now dead, the group that made up the political leadership of the eight hundred

refugees from Pax Tharkas was still called that.

"It isn't that we're not grateful to the dwarves for allowing us to live

here." stated Hederick expansively, waving his scarred hand. "We are all

grateful, I'm certain. Just as we're grateful to those whose heroism in

recovering the Hammer of Kharas made our move here possible." Hederick bowed

to Tanis, who returned the bow with a brief nod of his head. "But we are not

dwarves!"

This emphatic statement brought murmurs of approval, causing Hederick to warm

to his audience.

"We humans were never meant to live underground!" Loud calls of approval and

some clapping of hands.

"We are farmers. We cannot grow food on the side of a mountain! We want lands

like the ones we were forced to leave behind. And I say that those who forced

us to leave our old homeland should provide us with new!"

"Does he mean the Dragon Highlords?" Sturm whispered sarcastically to Tanis.

"I'm certain they'd be happy to oblige."

"The fools ought to be thankful they're alive!" Tanis muttered. "Look at them,

turning to Elistan-as if it were his doing!"

The cleric of Paladine-and leader of the refugees-rose to his feet to answer

Hederick.

"It is because we need new homes," Elistan said, his strong baritone

resounding through the cavern, "that I propose we send a delegation south, to

the city of Tarsis the Beautiful."

Tanis had heard Elistan's plan before. His mind wandered over the month since

he and his companions had returned from Derkin's Tomb with the sacred Hammer.

The dwarven Thanes, now consolidated under the leadership of Hornfel, were

preparing to battle the evil coming from the north. The dwarves did not

greatly fear this evil. Their mountain kingdom seemed impregnable. And they

had kept the promise they made Tanis in return for the Hammer: the refugees

from Pax Tharkas could settle in Southgate, the southernmost part of the

mountain kingdom of Thorbardin.

Elistan brought the refugees to Thorbardin. They began trying to rebuild their

lives, but the arrangement was not totally satisfactory.

They were safe, to be sure, but the refugees, mostly farmers, were not happy

living underground in the huge dwarven caverns. In the spring they could plant

crops on the mountainside, but the rocky soil would produce only a bare

living. The people wanted to live in the sunshine and fresh air. They did not

want to be dependent on the dwarves.

It was Elistan who recalled the ancient legends of Tarsis the Beautiful and

its gull-winged ships. But that's all they were legends, as Tanis had pointed

out when Elistan first mentioned his idea. No one on this part of Ansalon had

heard anything about the city of Tarsis since the Cataclysm three hundred

years ago. At that time, the dwarves had closed off the mountain kingdom of

Thorbardin, effectively shutting off all communication between the south and

north, since the only way through the Kharolis Mountains was through

Thorbardin.

Tanis listened gloomily as the Council of Highseekers voted unanimously to

approve Elistan's suggestion. They proposed sending a small group of people to

Tarsis with instructions to find what ships came into port, where they were

bound, and how much it would cost to book passage-or even to buy a ship.

"And who's going to lead this group?" Tanis asked himself silently, though he

already knew the answer.

All eyes now turned to him. Before Tanis could speak, Raistlin, who had been

listening to all that was said without comment, walked forward to stand before

the Council. He stared around at them, his strange eyes glittering golden.

"You are fools;" Raistlin said, his whispering voice soft with scorn, "and you

are living in a fool's dream. How often must I repeat myself? How often must I

remind you of the portent of the stars? What do you say to yourselves when you

look into the night sky and see the gaping black holes where the two

constellations are missing?"

The Council members shifted in their seats, several exchanging long-suffering

glances indicative of boredom.

Raistlin noticed this and continued, his voice growing more and more

contemptuous. "Yes, I have heard some of you saying that it is nothing more

than a natural phenomenon-a thing that happens, perhaps, like the falling of

leaves from the trees."

Several Council members muttered among themselves, nodding. Raistlin watched

silently for a moment, his lip curled in derision. Then he spoke once more. "I

repeat, you are fools. The constellation known as the Queen of Darkness is

missing from the sky because the Queen is present here upon Krynn. The Warrior

constellation, which represents the ancient God Paladine, as we are told in

the Disks of Mishakal, has also returned to Krynn to fight her."

Raistlin paused. Elistan, who stood among them, was a prophet of Paladine, and

many here were converts to this new religion. He could sense the growing anger

at what some considered his blasphemy. The idea that gods would become

personally involved in the affairs of men! Shocking! But being considered

blasphemous had never bothered Raistlin.

His voice rose to a high pitch. "Mark well my words! With the Queen of

Darkness have come her 'shrieking hosts' as it says in the 'Canticle'. And the

shrieking hosts are dragons!" Raistlin drew out the last word into a hiss

that, as Flint said, 'shivered the skin'

"We know all this," Hederick snapped in impatience. It was past time for the

Theocrat's nightly glass of mulled wine, and his thirst gave him courage to

speak. He immediately regretted it, however, when Raistlin's hourglass eyes

seemed to pierce the Theocrat like black arrows. "W-what are you driving at?"

"That peace no longer exists anywhere on Krynn," the mage whispered. He waved

a frail hand. "Find ships, travel where you will. Wherever you go, whenever

you look up into the night sky, you will see those gaping black holes.

Wherever you go, there will be dragons!"

Raistlin began to cough. His body twisted with the spasms, and he seemed

likely to fall, but his twin brother, Caramon, ran forward and caught him in

his strong arms.

After Caramon led the mage out of the Council meeting, it seemed as if a dark

cloud had been lifted. The Council members shook themselves and laughed, if

somewhat shakily, and talked of children's tales. To think that war had spread

to all of Krynn was comic. Why, the war was near an end here in Ansalon

already. The Dragon Highlord, Verminaard, had been defeated, his draconian

armies driven back.

The Council members stood and stretched and left the chamber to head for the

alehouse or their homes.

They forgot they had never asked Tanis if he would lead the group to Tarsis.

They simply assumed he would.

Tass, exchanging grim glances with Sturm, left the cavern. It was his night to

stand watch. Even though the dwarves might consider themselves safe in their

mountain fortress, Tanis and Sturm insisted that a watch be kept upon the

walls leading into Southgate. They had come to respect the Dragon Highlords

too much to sleep in peace without it-even underground.

Tanis leaned against the outer wall of Southgate, his face thoughtful and

serious. Before him spread a meadow covered by smooth, powdery snow. The night

was calm and still. Behind him was the great mass of the Kharolis Mountains.

The gate of Southgate was, in fact, a gigantic plug in the side of the

mountains. It was part of the dwarven defenses that had kept the world out for

three hundred years following the Cataclysm and the destructive Dwarven Wars.

Sixty feet wide at the base and almost half again as high, the gate was

operated by a huge mechanism that forced it in and out of the mountain. At

least forty feet thick in its center, the gate was as indestructible as any

known on Krynn, except for the one matching it in the north. Once shut, they

could not be distinguished from the faces of the mountain, such was the

craftsmanship of the ancient dwarven masons.

Yet, since the arrival of the humans at Southgate, torches had been set about

the opening, allowing the men, women, and children access to the outside air-a

human need that seemed an unaccountable weakness to the subterranean dwarves.

As Tanis stood there, staring into the woods beyond the meadow and finding no

peace in their quiet beauty, Sturm, Elistan, and Laurana joined him. The three

had been talking obviously of him-and fell into an uncomfortable silence.

"How solemn you are," Laurana said to Tanis softly, coming near and putting

her hand on his arm. "you believe Raistlin is right, don't you,

Tanthal-Tanis?" Laurana blushed. His human name still came clumsily to her

lips, yet she knew him well enough now to understand that his elven name only

brought him pain.

Tanis looked down at the small, slender hand on his arm and gently put his own

over it. Only a few months earlier the touch would have irritated him, causing

confusion and guilt as he wrestled with the love for a human woman against

what he told himself was a childhood infatuation with this elfmaiden. But now

the touch of Laurana's hand filled him with warmth and peace, even as it

stirred his blood. He pondered these new, disturbing feelings as he responded

to her question.

"I have long found Raistlin's advice sound," he said, knowing how this would

upset them. Sure enough, Sturm's face darkened. Elistan frowned. "And I think

he is right this time. We have won a battle, but we are a long way from

winning the war. We know it is being fought far north, in Solamnia. I think we

may safely assume that it is not for the conquest of Abanasinia alone that the

forces of darkness are fighting."

"But you are only speculating!" Elistan argued. "Do not let the darkness that

hangs around the young wage cloud your thinking. He may be right, but that is

no reason to give up hope, to give up trying! Tarsis is a large seaport

city-at least according to all we know of it. There we'll find those who can

tell us if the war encompasses the world. If so, then surely there still must

be havens where we can find peace."

"Listen to Elistan, Tanis," Laurana said gently. "He is wise. When our people

left Qualinesti, they did not flee blindly. They traveled to a peaceful haven.

My father had a plan, though he dared not reveal it-"

Laurana broke off, startled to- see the effect of her speech. Abruptly Tanis

snatched his arm from her touch and turned his gaze on Elistan, his eyes

filled with anger.

"Raistlin says hope is the denial of reality." Tanis stated coldly. Then,

seeing Elistan's care-worn face regard him with sorrow, the half-elf smiled

wearily. "I apologize, Elistan. I am tired, that's all. Forgive me. Your

suggestion is good. We'll travel to Tarsis with hope, if nothing else."

Elistan nodded and turned to leave. "Are you coming, Laurana? I know you are

tired, my dear, but we have a great deal to do before I can turn the

leadership aver to the Council in my absence."

"I'll be with you presently, Elistan;" Laurana said, flushing. "I-I want to

speak a moment with Tanis.'

Elistan gave them both an appraising, understanding look, then walked through

the darkened gateway with Sturm. Tanis began dousing the torches, preparatory-

to the closing of the gate. Laurana stood near the entrance, her expression

growing cold as it became obvious Tanis was ignoring her.

"What is the matter with you?" she said finally. "It almost sounds as if you

are taking that Clark-sauled mage's part against Elistan, one of the best and

wisest humans I have ever met!"

"Don't judge Raistlin, Laurana," Tanis said harshly, thrusting a torch into a

bucket of water, The light vanished with a hiss.

"Things aren't always black and white, as you elves are inclined to believe.

The mage has saved our lives more than once. I have come to rely upon his

thinking-which, I admit, I find easier to rely on than blind faith!"

Margaret Weis & Tracy Hickman - Dragons of Winter Night

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