'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.
'Up, friends,' she said. 'I believe Larloch's grown tired of being unable to listen in, and brought battle back to us.'
The tiny elf waved a hand, and her shielding melted into glistening translucence. They could see white mist overhead, whiteness under their feet, and a dark, solid wall of maliciously-smiling liches all around, scores deep.
The Srinshee's face went grim. 'He has more liches than I knew. This may mean doom for us all.'
There was a flash of silver behind that dark wall of undead for a moment. It thrust unwilling liches aside for an instant, like a fire-crack in the blazing darkness of a log turning to ash, to show the Knights the strand that was Elminster ablaze with furious silver fire.
Then it darkened, and the wall of liches was whole once more.
There came another flash, dragging the liches asunder at a slightly different spot. They saw the strand that was Dove pulsing silver, more gently-or more feebly? — than Elminster's had blazed. Then it, too, darkened, and the liches came together again.
Grinning coldly, they closed in around the Knights, who raised their weapons and waited to die.
'Stout hearts, heroes,' the Srinshee urged from behind their backs. 'I've a trick or two yet-'
The world exploded in roaring silver fire.
Hurled down and tumbled in whirling helplessness like leaves dashed and rolled in a gale, the Knights beheld the Srinshee's startled eyes burst into leaping silver flames. More flames exploded from her mouth, and her body leaped at them, hurled like a helpless ragdoll.
Those tiny arms and legs overtook the rolling Knights and smashed them flat, silver fire rolled over them in a tingling, terrifying snarling that left them numbed and gasping.
A furious female voice snarled, 'Stay down!'
Jhessail had ended up panting on her back, with one of the Srinshee's shapely legs across her throat, so she saw who spat out that angry command.
Silver hair lashing and whirling snakelike above a torn and tattered black gown, a woman whose eyes were two smoldering silver stars glared around at ranks of cowering, hissing liches. She curled her body back like a snake rearing to strike then lashed out with both arms flung forward, like a whip cracking, to send silver fire forth in an all-consuming flood.
The Witch-Queen of Aglarond had come calling.
All the liches in front of her were gone. Where they'd stood, the mists had given way to scores of tiny wisps of smoke streaming from lumps of ash that had been feet.
The liches behind the Simbul fled, dwindling into the mist like so many large and ungainly black bats, trying to escape before she Turned and let fly once more, hurling forth another destroying flood of silver fire to sear strands and running liches alike.
It was impressive, and went on for a long time. Severed white strands slumped in the dim, misty white distance. The barefoot woman in the black tatters reeled, her eyes going dark and her arms falling to her sides like boneless things, and fell on her face.
The few liches left nearby swarmed up from where they'd been cowering, flat amid the last curling sighs of mist, and raced desperately toward the fallen Chosen, hands raised into claws.
The Srinshee sped to the Simbul even faster, springing up from the Knights in a racing flight powered by vitality snatched from the three adventurers. Her life-leeching magic left the Knights sick and shuddering.
'Sorry, friends,' she called back, as she flung out a hand toward the strands that had swallowed Elminster and Dove, and did something that called forth more silver fire from them.
The liches recoiled as it came racing to her in two thin, snarling beams, outlined her briefly in a halo of silver flames, and sank down into her. The Srinshee went to her knees atop the sprawled Queen of Aglarond and kissed her slack mouth-a kiss that leaked silver fire.
By then Florin was on his feet, swaying, leaning on his sword as if it was a walking-stick. He managed two unsteady steps toward the Srinshee before she was flung back into him by the Simbul's eruption back upright. Tumbling together, they rolled over a weakly-cursing Jhessail, and beheld the Queen of Aglarond once more hurling silver fire.
The radiance came not in great floods, but in tiny bursts that streaked from her pointing finger at this lone lich-who burst into flames, like a screaming torch-then that one, who burned even more violently.
