After three more days of rest and the old man's stew, I was back to normal--or near enough. I had the old man boil me a tub of water for a bath and a shave. I found a serviceable pair of synthetic fiber long-johns in a chest of drawers, pulled them on and zipped the weather suit over them, then buckled on the holster I had made from a tough plastic. "That completes my preparations, Pop," I said. "It'll be dark in another half hour. Thanks for everything." He got to his feet, a worried look on his lined face, like a father the first time Junior asks for the car. "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. "Yeah," I said. "Let's go...." * * * * * The Baronial palace was a forty-story slab of concrete and glass that had been known in my days as the Hilton Garden East. We made it in three hours of groping across country in the dark, at the end of which I was puffing but still on my feet. We moved out from the cover of the trees and looked across a dip in the ground at the lights, incongruously cheerful in the ravaged valley. "The gates are there--" the old man pointed--"guarded by the Great Troll." "Wait a minute. I thought the Troll was the Bolo back at the Site." "That's the Lesser Troll. This is the Great One." I selected a few choice words and muttered them to myself. "It would have saved us some effort if you'd mentioned this Troll a little sooner, Old Timer. I'm afraid I don't have any spells that will knock out a Mark II, once it's got its dander up." He shook his head. "It lies under enchantment. I remember the day when it came, throwing thunderbolts. Many men were killed. Then the Baron commanded it to stand at his gates to guard him." "How long ago was this, Old Timer?" He worked his lips over the question. "Long ago," he said finally. "Many winters." "Let's go take a look." We picked our way down the slope, came up along a rutted dirt road to the dark line of trees that rimmed the palace grounds. The old man touched my arm. "Softly here. Maybe the Troll sleeps lightly...." I went the last few yards, eased around a brick column with a dead lantern on top, stared across fifty yards of waist-high brush at a dark silhouette outlined against the palace lights.