"The Baron's men are everywhere."
"If you want to help, come along and back me up with that shotgun of yours." I picked it up. "Have you got any shells for this thing?"
He smiled, pleased now. "There are shells—but the magic is gone from many."
"That's the way magic is, Pop. It goes out of things before you notice."
"Will you destroy the Great Troll now?"
"My motto is let sleeping trolls lie. I'm just paying a social call on the Baron."
The joy ran out of his face like booze from a dropped jug.
"Don't take it so hard, Old Timer. I'm not the fairy prince you were expecting. But I'll take care of you—if I make it."
I waited while he pulled on a moth-eaten mackinaw. He took the shotgun and checked the breech, then looked at me.
"I'm ready," he said.