The Realms of the Elves a-11

by Коллектив Авторов

  Then something swept through the mist and strands, broke over them, and rolled on. Something vast and heavy and nigh-soundless, that plucked up and hurled away liches in velvet silence, and spun mythal-gold and emerald rings alike up into great spheres of white strands, englobing each and every baelnorn. The spheres fell softly from their heights, to bounce and roll gently among the strands, and halt here and there.

  Something like a rag doll fell less gently out of the white misty nothingness overhead, and would have smashed Florin flat had he not cast aside his blade, stepped back, and cradled his hands to catch it.

  The force of her fall drove him to his knees, and over onto his shoulders. Sapphire-blue hair blinded him, and soft limbs tumbled across his chest as their owner gasped, groaned, ducked under Jhessail's wary dagger, and plucked up Florin's sword.

  On hands and knees, the elf grinned up at the lady mage. "Worry not, I won't be using this steel on you or anyone. 'Twould be poor reward for rescuing me from harm to lose one's blade." She turned her head to look at Florin. "My thanks, man."

  The ranger rolled up to his knees, barely winded. The elf had been little heavier than a child. He gave her a polite smile, and she took hold of his sword by the blade and held it out to him.

  As she did so, Merith went to his knees with the full flourishes, as if to a coronal or great lady.

  She smiled at him. "I'm done with such things, young gallant. I hope. Yet I'll not entirely abandon the courtesies. Well met in a strange glade, blood of Meirynth. I see the blood runs strong."

  Merith blushed, but the sapphire-haired elf turned her head to include the other two Knights as she continued, "Have my thanks, all of you." Then she turned fully to Jhessail, golden eyes twinkling. "And my explanations."

  From up close, her beauty was even more breathtaking. Perfect skin of that tan, almost golden hue, long arms and longer legs for one so tiny… even Jhessail found herself staring.

  A delicate hand waved dismissal. "I've seen far fairer; there's no need to be staring at these old bones."

  "Ah, Lady…" Florin began, unable to take his eyes off that gorgeous sapphire-blue hair.

  She sighed-and Florin found himself looking at a feminine version of Merith, with that glorious fall of hair turned jet black, and her skin a soft white.

  "There. Does that set you more at ease?"

  "Only if I could know I was seeing your true shape, Lady," Florin said. "We've fought so many fair-seeming foes who were scaled serpents-or worse-beneath the beauty they lured us with."

  She shrugged, and became once more tan-skinned and blue-haired. "This is the one I've grown used to. In truth, I can't recall how far it is from what I looked like before I mastered my first spells."

  She drew her feet under her and sat, hands planted on the misty whiteness that served as "ground" in the Tshad-darna. "Forgive me," she murmured. "I'm still weary after that mythal-twisting." She waved a hand at the nearest strand-spheres.

  "You're the Srinshee," Merith said.

  She turned to look at him, lost her smile, and nodded. "I am."

  He regarded her cautiously, and murmured, "Forgive me, lady, but-are you of my sort… among elves, that is, or…?"

  A slender shoulder lifted in a shrug. "Moon elf, sun elf," the Srinshee murmured. "I have moved so far beyond that."

  Eyes fixed on his, she sat still and silent-as her skin turned a faint blue, her hair went silver-white, and her eyes deepened into bottomless pools of green. Then they went blue, along with her hair, as her skin turned bronze, her hair shifted again to a coppery hue and to a blaze of gold.

  Florin made a wordless murmuring sound deep in his throat, at the striking beauty of one of her combinations-but the Srinshee went on changing. Her skin became deep brown, her hair shifted to match, her skin slid to copper tinged with green, her eyes went hazel and lilac-and obsidian black, and Merith drew in his breath with a hiss.

  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.

  "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.

  One by one the liches fell to the Simbul's stabbing silver fire, as the whiteness all around the shuddering, struggling-to-their-feet Knights seemed to pulse with silver, and surge beneat
h their boots. It began to fold up around them, the whiteness slashed with rifts, countless spiderweb cracks, and great tumbling vistas of spreading darkness. Strands collapsed into glowing white soup; mist, blazing liches, and all whirled around them wildly; a great roaring rose from bone-shaking depths into ear-clawing heights; and Out of the deafening chaos, the Srinshee plucked at Merith and shouted, "The shaddarn is collapsing!"

  He twisted, trying to reach his wife, but Jhessail was beyond the tips of his straining fingers, and falling away from him-into the waiting grip of a long-fingered hand that looked familiar.

  Merith had just time to conclude it must belong to Elminster, and that the elbow streaking past his nose must be Dove's, grabbing Florin, before everything whirled up into shrieking darkness and he was falling…

  Falling…

  Falling through sunlight into soft, dark earth with a crash and clatter of beanpoles, as familiar tripods of silver-with-age spars of wood toppled over, trailing tendrils and dancing leaves.

  Lush green leaves? Roseberry leaves? Warmth and sun and no snow? Just when had high summer come to Storm's kitchen garden?

  Just how long had they been away in the shaddarn?

  Merith bounced as someone heavy landed on him and was as suddenly gone again, more leaves dancing past his gaze. He felt someone else's boot strike his and flop down on him and roll aside… and he was blinking up at the amused face of Storm Silverhand, reaching a sun-browned hand down to him.

  "Things went well, I see," she commented, "unless one happens to be a bean plant. Sister, must you always crush the same sort? 'Tis not as if you ever actually eat them…"

  The Simbul, sprawled face-down under most of the Knights amid a welter of poles and crushed greenery, neither moved nor responded. winked out, together.

  Dove and Storm looked at each other, sighed, and reached down for the Simbul. "She sent forth a lot of power," Dove said. "One of these days, she's going to spend too much, and-"

  Jhessail caught her breath then, so sharply that the sound she made was almost a sob.