Impulsively, Laura Glue leaned over and hugged her furry companion. "Thank you, Fred," she said. "That helps. A lot."

Yes, Jack thought from the port side of the cabin, where he'd inadvertently been listening in on their conversation, thank you. I only hope that we can live up to your expectations. And our own.

CHAPTER TEN.

Fallen Idols

After an uneventful night of sailing through the gray, starless gloom, the Black Dragon glided through the shallows and onto the beach at Paralon-or what was a pale, nightmare reflection of the Paralon they all remembered.

The island had changed.

The docks and the bustling business quarter were gone as if they had never been. Most of the buildings that lined the paved streets were gone. In fact, the only thing that resembled the old Paralon was the citadel that was carved into the mountain ahead. Everything else was gone.

"I was here just yesterday," Laura Glue said dully. "How can it have changed so completely, so quickly? How is that possible?"

"Two millennia makes a difference," said Jack. "Everything changes in that much time."

"I don't care about the island!" she said angrily. "I care about all my friends. What's become of them?"

Fred swallowed hard and hugged her tightly. She was right-his father, Uncas, and grandfather, Tummeler, had been here on Paralon. If what they saw around them was true, then Fred would have lost his family just as Laura Glue had lost all her friends. It was a prospect that became even more chilling the longer the companions thought about it, as the understanding of the magnitude of their predicament became ever more manifest.

Everyone was gone. Everyone they had ever known in the Archipelago.

"Surely there might still be someone left?" Jack stated as bravely as he could manage. "Samaranth, almost certainly, and perhaps Ordo Maas. Didn't they call him the Ancient of Days? Surely two thousand years would be nothing to him."

"It's not just the passage of time that worries me," said John, "it's that the worlds have been severed. The Summer Country, our world, is the living twin to the Archipelago."

"A Siamese twin," Burton said. "And what happens if the blood flow from one is disconnected from the other?"

John didn't reply, but merely frowned and turned away. Jack knew what his friend was thinking. John's son Christopher was still in the RAF, and the war, while winding down, was not yet won. What if, because of this crisis in the Archipelago, the war would not end? What then?

"Look!" Archimedes called out. "Over here!"

He'd been flying above the companions, looping in wider and wider circles, searching for someone or something they might recognize-and it appeared he'd found both.

It was an immense statue, half broken, as if it from the impact of something equally large. Still, the form was unmistakable: It was a centaur.

"Charys?" Jack asked Fred, who had scampered over to read the inscription at the base.

"Same vineyard, different vintage," Fred replied. "This is a statue of his great-grandson, Kobol, who was killed while defending Paralon in the Second Great War of the Races." He turned to Jack. "I don't remember there being a First Great War of the Races."

"You can miss a lot of wars in two millennia, little Caretaker," said Burton.

Fred's whiskers twitched. "He was my teacher, you know. Charys."

"Do you suppose this is the Winterland?" John suggested to Jack. "Could we have crossed back into that place?"

"I doubt it," Jack answered. "For one thing, the Winterland was back in our world, not here. And for another, that entire scenario was caused by a specific bit of chronal sabotage."

"What was that?" asked Burton.

"You," John said pointedly.

"Oh, yes," Burton said. "The Dyson incident. Verne told me about your end of that tale. I have to admit, I was rather impressed by the accounting of Bert."

"How so?"

"The fact that he was willing to sell out his colleagues to Mordred to save his own skin," said Burton. "It sounds like something I would do."

"Yes," John said drolly. "It does. And it was barbaric. I'd rather you not bring it up again."

"Not to defend Burton," said Jack, "but Jules does keep his own skull on his desk. If anyone has reason to be tweaked by the whole thing, I'd guess it was him."

"It may have seemed like a disaster to you," said Burton, "but this 'Winterland' you experienced managed to do one thing right that not a thousand years of Caretakers have succeeded in doing."

"What was that, Burton?"

"Unite the worlds," Burton replied. "In the Winterland, the Archipelago and the Summer Country were one again."

"Under the tyrant's rule, you mean."

Burton shrugged. "I didn't say it was perfect. But just so you know-it is possible."

"That's almost reassuring," said Rose. "If you ever try to do it again, I hope you choose a better ruler."

"Your own father ruled the Winterland," said Burton, "did he not?"

"No," said Rose. "Mordred ruled the Winterland. My father is Madoc."

"From the position of the city gates," Laura Glue said, shading her eyes to peer into the distance, "I'd say that we're standing where the royal docks used to be."

"Either they don't use boats very often anymore," said Jack, "or they haven't needed to in a very, very long time."

"Archimedes," John called out to the bird, "go do another aerial reconnaissance and see if there's anyone else about."

In only a few minutes, Archimedes swooped low over the companions and gave his report. Farther up the beach, he had found someone, the first living being they'd seen since Avalon-a single man, sitting close to a cold fire.

They approached him cautiously, but he barely gave any notice that he knew they were there until they were directly opposite the fire. The robes he wore were of a fine, rich material; ebony-hued, sleeker than silk. They dropped over one shoulder and wrapped around his midsection before falling almost to his shoeless feet.

"He has the features of an elf," John whispered to Jack. "But ..."

"I know," Jack answered. "I've never seen an elf who actually looked ... old."

The man stood and looked at the companions oddly, as if he knew there should be some sort of decorum involved when greeting newcomers and simply couldn't remember what it was.

He moved his mouth in fits and starts, clearly wanting to speak-but he said nothing. His eyes were not quite vacant, but both John and Jack had seen the expression he wore all too often.

Shell shock. Battle fatigue. A war, perhaps many wars, had taken their toll, and destroyed whatever there had been in him that had made him walk tall and strong and confidently in another life that was long past.

Strangely, it was Houdini who first decided to approach this strange, emaciated figure. "Hello," he said tentatively. "My name is Ehrich."

Doyle reacted visibly to this-Houdini hated being called by his real name and rarely used it.

The man tilted his head, examining the magician as if assessing his intent. Then, without warning, he stepped forward and collapsed into Houdini's arms, sobbing.

"Are you really here?" he asked between long, choking gasps. "Are you real, or fantasy?"

"I sometimes wonder that myself," Houdini murmured as he held the man closer. "I'm here. We've come to help."

"You're too late!" the man said, still crying. "You're just too late."

The others moved closer, and John and Laura Glue brought out some of the stores of food and water that had survived the passage of the Frontier. Burton, Doyle, and Theo gathered together more driftwood to add to the fire.

"This was all within reach," Burton grumbled as they added more sticks to the pile. "Why didn't he build it up? Why was he just sitting here, shivering and suffering?"

"I don't think he could build the fire," John said quietly, glancing over at the emaciated man. "I don't think he had the strength-or the will."

"If I have the will, I'll find the strength," Burton answered, scoffing.

After half an hour, the man seemed to have gotten enough of his strength back to converse with the companions.

"How do you come here?" he asked Houdini.

"In a ship," the Magician replied. "The Black Dragon."

"You have a Dragonship?" the man said. There was more interest in that single question than anything else he'd said to them.

"We do," said Jack, pointing down the beach to the faintly visible silhouette of the Black Dragon and the Tin Man. "We've only just arrived in it, though it's seen better days, I'm afraid."

"I have a Dragonship too," the man replied, weakly lifting his arm to point in the other direction. "It's there, on the sand. I hope to see it sail again someday, but sometimes ..." He paused, and his eyes welled up with tears. "Sometimes I have had to use the wood for my fire, when there is no skrika, and the rain is coldest."

John cupped his eyes with his hands and peered in the direction the man was pointing. He'd seen a shape in the distance but thought it was simply an outcropping of rock; now he could make out the contours of a ship.

"Archimedes," he began.

"Wait," said Laura Glue. "I'll go take a look. I've been needing to stretch my wings."

"All right," John said, "but not alone. No," he added as she started to protest, "it's not because you're young, or because you're a girl. We don't know anything about this place. This is not the Paralon you know. None of us are going anywhere alone."

"I'll go with her," offered Doyle. "Won't be but a few minutes."

The bird, the Valkyrie, and the Detective disappeared into the mists along the beach, and were gone for only a short while before they returned. Doyle was nonplussed by their find, but Archie was excited and Laura Glue was visibly upset-enough so that she walked back alongside Doyle instead of flying.

"Laura Glue?" Rose asked, taking her friend's hands. "What was it? Is it really a Dragonship?"

Laura Glue wore the stunned expression of someone who had seen an impossible thing-and perhaps she had.

"It is a Dragonship," she said, incredulous. "It's the Blue Dragon!"

The companions all ran down the beach together to take a closer look at the legendary ship. It was the most elusive of the Dragonships, and the most powerful, because it belonged to one of the Elder Races in the Archipelago: the Elves.

It had been John's experience that when one spoke of Elves, people tended to think about sprites, and gossamer-winged fairies, and gentle, folklore magic. These were not those kind of Elves.

Bert had explained to him early in his apprenticeship about the Elves-that they had not come to maturity during the time of the Archipelago, as had many of the other races, but had in fact come from a far older culture, from when there was no separation between the Summer Country and the Archipelago.

Their land was contemporary with Atlantis and Mu. Some heard it was called Numenor; some Ys; others still Melnibone. But whatever it had been called was lost to all but the Elven race itself, and they had had enough of dealings with men.

When the Frontier was erected, Arthur himself went as an emissary to the Elf King, Eledir, who reestablished trade with the rest of the Archipelago, and by extension, the rest of the world. As a gift of good faith, Arthur allowed Ordo Maas to build the Blue Dragon, which he presented to the Elf King. In subsequent years the Elven craftsmen improved on the old shipmaster's design, turning an already formidable craft into a truly impressive instrument of war.

A remarkable history, John thought, that comes to its conclusion here, half-buried in the dust of Paralon.

Several dozen feet above their heads, the masthead of the great Dragon stretched high into the dusky air. Reaching away behind it were the spars and boards that had once formed a tight hull, now spread wide with age and disuse. The sides of the ship looked like a moth-eaten blanket, shot through with holes. The frame spread out on both sides like a skeleton, ribs pulling away from the spine-proof, stark and cold, that the living heart that it had once housed was long dead. Even the golden eyes of the Dragon were gray and cold-or at least one of them was, John noted. The other had been pried out of its socket, leaving a gaping hole in the noble face.

"Were you a sailor aboard the ship?" Rose asked gently, "or its captain, perhaps?"

"Not captain," the man said. "My ship. I built her. I and the Ancient of Days."

"Eledir?" John gasped. "Are you Eledir?"

The fragile face changed into a mask of hope. "Do you know me? You know my name?"

"Yes, yes I do!" John exclaimed. He wasn't certain what to think about this incredible and disturbing new discovery, but for the moment, he was happy enough just to find someone-anyone-he knew.

"Oh, thank you," Eledir said. "Do you have any skrika?"

John's face fell. He looked at Jack, who was similarly confused. Only Houdini and Theo seemed to understand what had happened.

This was indeed Eledir, the great Elf King of legend, who had fought beside Arthur in his youth, and with John and Jack in his golden years. But time, and whatever dreadful events had befallen the Archipelago, had taken their toll. His mind was gone-and with it the noble, majestic warrior who had led the Elven race for millennia.

"There must be a way to aid him," John said as he led the companions a few feet away to confer. "Fred? Is there anything in the Little Whatsit that might help?"

The little badger looked through page after page of ailments and maladies and remedies, only to come up regrettably short. "I'm sorry, Scowler John," he said sadly. "There's nothing here that really addresses this sort of thing. The only references that even come close say to consult the Elves-and he's the only one we know of here."

There was nothing the companions could do except leave the Elf King where they had found him, next to his fire. Doyle, Houdini, and Theo gathered up more wood for him, and Laura Glue and Fred gave him more rations of food and water. After a moment, Fred even went back and placed a packet of his beloved Leprechaun crackers in Eledir's hand.

"Tell the Tin Man," John instructed Archimedes, "that we're going to go into the city, but we're leaving Ele-we're leaving this fellow here. He doesn't need to do anything, just watch from a distance, but I'll just feel better if we're not leaving him completely alone."