Viewing a war-torn room with five corpses and an exhausted Djinni from inside his own simulacrum, Baron Iglacias Rostov laughed at the strangeness.
He laughed again when he saw that the whirlwind had blown the Holy Doors closed. They stood stripped of nearly all paint and gilding, but they had protected the church beyond them.
And he laughed a third time when he considered how much he would have to donate anonymously to St. Theodosia’s to repair the inexplicable damage that would eventually be discovered.
“Lord Djinni, are you all right?” he asked jovially. The Baron knew that Saleem would count surviving such an opponent as a victory.
“He was a mighty warrior,” said the Djinni in a tone of respect.
“But you proved mightier. You were the founda—the mighty wind of our battle.” (One must be careful about using architectural terms around the Djinn; they can find them offensively … earthy.) “I will find a minstrel to spread a song of your deeds across the wide Ear—the whole Material Plane.”
Saleem’s laugh sounded like a dozen dust devils. “Yes, that is what will please a Djinni, Baron Rostov. We can make jewels and gold whenever we like, but to have my deeds sung by strange tongues in many lands”—the Djinn themselves do not scruple to mention earth when it suits them—“what higher honor could there be? I will bring my whole family to hear this song. And if it is rousing and beautiful, we will take it back to the Plane of Air and all of us will be at your disposal!
“But now I feel the weariness of battle. If you have no further need of me, I will take my leave and return home to heal.”
“My home is your home, my breezy friend, but it would not heal you so well. Don’t be a stranger.” The Baron waved his arms wildly and puffed out his cheeks, blowing as strongly at the Djinni as he could. Saleem laughed at the crude Human imitation of a Djinni farewell, but he seemed touched by it as he disappeared.
“Simulacrum, you have outlived your usefulness,” Rostov said aloud in the simulacrum’s voice.
“More than outlived it,” it agreed. “I eagerly await returning to the void.”
The wizard walked the simulacrum out of the ruined narthex and knelt under a tree. As he left it, he sucked the animation out and it collapsed into dust.
The Ethereal atmosphere had greatly improved and the trip back to the cabin was direct and swift, with no need for the Djinni’s protection. But the Baron viewed trouble as he approached his body on the Prime Material Plane.
The woods were thick with Kalnichov horsemen and foot soldiers. Grigor and Jaromir were giving all those foot soldiers and horsemen something to chase. Franjo and Zoltan the Dandy were kneeling in front of the hut. The Dandy was talking animatedly to the ten guards surrounding him, and they were listening intently. He was doing one hell of a job keeping them busy, but just then one of the guards got bored enough to start nosing toward the hut. The Baron re-entered his body.
Pausing only a moment to revel in the sensation, he stood, pulled down the blanket, and came out of the hut. He said irritatedly, using a Voice of Command, “Don’t you people have anything better to do?”
“Begging your pardon, Your Excellency,” the guard in charge, clearly a full recipient of the effect, began.
“And you are?”
“Corporal Alb—“
“Find me an officer, at once, Corporal. All these people must stop riding around at breakneck speed! They are disturbing the tranquility of the moment!”
The Baron was slathering on the Imperiousness so thickly, he was afraid he was going to break out laughing at himself.
Within minutes, the corporal had brought him the Kalnichov captain, whom he intimidated into dispersing his own people and leaving the Baron’s men alone.
As soon as they were out of earshot of the Kalnichovs, the Baron asked in total amazement, “How did you do that! There were four of you and a hundred of them! How long did you have to hold them off, Grigor?”
“The first of them showed up almost as soon as you left. We held them off for six hours, and not a single slit throat among them.” Then Grigor laughed and said, “I told you he’d recognize good work, Dandy.” To the Baron, “He was grumbling that no employer ever recognizes the efforts his guards undertake for them.”
“I hope I’m not like that, Dandy. Particularly after a truly amazing piece of work like this. Congratulations to all of you.”