The Srinshee looked at him with blood-red eyes, lifted her lip in a mirthless smile that was more sneer than anything else, and fell back into tan skin, gold eyes, that sapphire blue hair, and a nice smile again.
"Enough games," she said. "I'll be happy to chat at ease with you later-if we can carve out a later for us all-but for now I need you still, valiant Knights. The sooner we prevail, the better, for know this: Time passes far more slowly here than in Faerun. Back in the Realms, days are racing by like scudding storm clouds."
Three pairs of eyebrows rose in silence, and her smile broadened. "Later."
"Lady," Jhessail said, "I'm content to wait for some lore, but please-why us, and what should we be doing next?"
"You, because Elminster thought you were the best to bring. We're here to foil Larloch's latest scheme. He's hit upon the idea of subverting baelnorn to act on his behalf. They'll eventually become his slaves, and he'll be able to draw on the magical energies of their mythals."
Florin blinked, and waved his hands at the mist all around. "Is this his… private play-yard?"
"No. I managed to lure the baelnorn into the Tshaddarna, so as to bring Larloch's liches here, too. Larloch will remain elsewhere, working only through his servitor liches. 'Tis his way."
Jhessail frowned. "What is this place?"
"The Tshaddarna-there are others-are extra-dimensional spaces created by spells, long ago."
Jhessail made a circular motion with her hand, an "out with it" prompting that made Merith grimace-and the Srinshee grin.
"The spells were cast by certain Imaskari, Netherese, and even by the Blood of Malaug, before they departed for their Place of Shadows that's much larger and better suits them."
The Srinshee waved her hand at the white mists and strands. "As I said, these are places only the Weave can reach, now. Their 'Faerun ends,' if you will, have been destroyed, but-obviously-the places themselves aren't swept away with them."
Florin looked at her rather grimly. "And how many armies are hiding in these hidden places? For that matter, how many Tshaddarna are there?"
"No armed hosts-there's nothing to eat in a shaddarn but each other, and nothing to drink but your own blood and leakings. More than that: gather an army in one, and months have passed in that brief mustering-where's your foe gone, in all that time, and what's he done? As for how many, no one knows. At least ten-and-four I know of. They're caught in the Weave like flies in a spider's web. It's finding and reaching them that's well-nigh impossible, unless one can ride the Weave."
"You can," Jhessail said, ducking her head so it wouldn't sound entirely like an accusation.
The Srinshee nodded. "Some few can. Larloch is one. He uses them to store magic and treasure. I can take you to a shaddarn that's waist-high with gold coins, as far as the eye can see."
"Don't tell Torm about that," Merith said to his fellow Knights, "whatever you do."
"Manshoon of the Zhentarim is another. He's left echoes of himself in various Tshaddarna, most of them in spell-stasis."
Florin crooked an eyebrow, his sword rising. "Should we expect to meet up with him here?"
The Srinshee smiled like a grandmother fondly guarding a secret, but said merely, "No."
Florin pounced on her momentary hesitation. "Just 'no'?"
The Srinshee's smile went wry. "One of the early Manshoons, still active and powerful in the Realms, retreats to a particular shaddarn like a snake seeking its burrow whenever danger gets too close to him in Faerun. Another shaddarn than this one."
Jhessail nodded. "You've been hiding in Tshaddarna too, haven't you?"
The Srinshee's smile never changed. "Of course."
"Why?"
"To let elfkind grow again, turning aside from decadence and the mind-death of shunning other beings-a shunning that could only grow into mutual hatred and slaying. So long as I and certain other elders were present, with the most powerful magic of the People in our hands, elves everywhere could trust in their matchless superiority, and exalt themselves over others. Even those who dwelt with humans could cling to inward beliefs that they were wiser, better… purer. And no race finds the condescension of others pretty-or its own condescension healthy."
"Mielikki have mercy, the patience you must have," Florin whispered.
The Srinshee's smile turned a little crooked. "I'm not the paragon you believe me to be, Lord Falcon-hand. In some ways, I'm what certain humans like to call a 'witch' or 'bitch.' Vindictive and childlike, in my way. I do consider myself superior to certain humans, you see."
"And so you are," Florin replied. "From outlaws to fell Zhentarim, Faerun holds no shortage of-"
"Villains? Indeed. I've amused myself-I cannot dignify my actions by any more noble description-by pruning the ranks of some of the more ambitious and magically-gifted among them."
Jhessail's eyes narrowed. "Oh? How, exactly?"
The Srinshee waggled her eyebrows and leered in a wild parody of maniacal villainy, until Jhessail couldn't help but smirk and both of the male Knights chuckled.
"Attempts to magically reach Tshaddarna can rob the seeker of their wits-that is, some spells, abilities, and memories-if I lure a prying one into a shaddarn that holds allips, chaos beasts, devourers, nishruu, or other beings who steal memories or cause insanity. When I find a Red Wizard, or a Zhentarim mage, I… give in to the temptation to cleanse your race, just a little."
"And thereby confirm yourself as no better…" Merith whispered, face failing.
"Exactly, Lord Strongbow. Precisely." The Srinshee's murmur went icy for a moment, and she added, "So if I'm slain by such a foe, 'tis no better than I deserve. Yet I'll not seek death by challenge or carelessness, nor take my life with my own hands, because so many foes all Faerun must be defended against remain. I am needed."
"So long as there are Larlochs," Florin observed.
"So long as there are Larlochs," the Srinshee echoed, and gave them a wide smile. "Ah, I've missed this. Not since I dwelt with Elminster in Myth Drannor have I tested wits and tongues like this. Swords crossed with respect."
"I… Lady, we are so unsuited to this, so unworthy," Merith began, groping for words-and stiffened as her hand touched his wrist. Her fingers were warm and alive with magic, and yet somehow icy, too.
"The Art's unreliable here," she told the Knights, "especially for undead. The magic that sustains them begin to fail. Wherefore you oh-so-unworthy Knights can be effective foes to the liches-and, if need be, to the baelnorn."
The Srinshee leaned forward, and sudden sparks swirled around them all, blotting out all sight of surrounding white mists and strands.
"My intent," she added, her shieldings vibrating around them, "is not just to defeat the liches, but to deceive Larloch as to how they were defeated."
"So?"
"So, Lady Strongbow, he'll believe his scheme with the baelnorn can never work-and won't keep trying. We all need those mythals to stand strong for years upon years to come."
"What if Larloch perceives you as the barrier to his plots, and comes here to destroy you?" Florin asked.
The Srinshee smiled. "I was fading away, lord, well on my way to becoming little more than a beckoning phantom and a half-remembered name-then Mystra died. Much of her essence came here, stealing into me in my loneliness, restoring me, and more than that, making me wiser than I ever was before. I had the pride all along, but she gave me the power."
Jhessail winced. "Those are words that probably fit many mages all too closely."
Even as the Srinshee nodded, her shieldings crackled and darkened around them.