The Nerevarine opened the gate just behind him, and Harald followed him through it and around a turn to the left. Harald looked up the ramp before them and stopped cold, momentarily paralyzed by what he saw.
There was another Dwemer construct in the room beyond them. But this was not just another centurion, like the ones the Nerevarine had already fought in the chamber below or the one Harald had been prepared to fight. This one was at least twice their size, possibly more. It was fastened in a gigantic support structure between two tall pillars, each containing a centurion core much like the one he’d seen in the first room of this ruin. These, however, were operating, each connected to a purplish beam of energy coming from somewhere beyond Harald’s field of vision. Waves of energy flowed from the cores, along the support frame, and over the great creature before them.
Harald couldn’t seem to move himself forward. He watched, horrified, as the Nerevarine ran headlong toward the construct. The closer he got to it, the smaller he seemed – and the more Harald realized that while the Nerevarine was immortal, he personally was not. He’d never have been able to tackle this colossus on his own.
I can’t stop that thing! It would crush me like a bug! I can’t Shout at it; it probably wouldn’t even register the attack. Qara, maybe, with all three words…
A horrific, rending noise – the clang of the machine disengaging from its supports combined with a hiss of steam – propelled Harald back into motion. The Numidium had freed itself and moved forward to engage the Nerevarine, each step echoing through this huge stone chamber. Harald had been moving toward them; but as the construct leaned forward to attack with a gout of steam that heated the air all the way across the room, Harald dodged left and ran toward the source of one of the energy beams.
I don’t know what they are, exactly, but it’s obvious those beams are powering the frame it was in. I don’t know whether it will help but at least if I can turn the power off, maybe we’ll have a better shot at stopping it.
It was hard to sprint in heavy armor, but he did his best; and as he moved his mind registered as many things as possible. There was a door straight ahead. There were stone pedestals through the space here, and atop many of them were basins of glowing stones with projections of Kagrenac’s Tools, similar to those he’d seen on the way in. The beams of power seemed to be some kind of shock magic – the crackling sound of it assured him that he would die in an instant if he ran through it. It smelled like burning power and oil; in fact, in many places the floor had puddles of oil that would kill him just as easily, if they were accidentally set aflame. He looked back over his shoulder and gazed in awe at the sight of the gigantic machine towering over the tiny form that he knew was the Nerevarine.
Then he saw it. On the closest pillar to him was a lever.
I have no idea what this does but I’m trying it. If I don’t try things, I’m going to die anyway.
He pulled the lever down and scooted behind the pillar for protection in case the Numidium mounted a steam attack in his direction. There was an explosion from somewhere in the chamber; he couldn’t tell what, if anything, had happened, but he was now able to see that there were three beams connecting to the frame, not just two. His heart pounded.
What do I do? What do I do? It’s absolutely pointless for me to run up to it with my sword. This is not a Forsworn!
He scanned the area again, frantically, trying to think above the cacophony of buzzing, crackling energy combined with the construct’s thunderous footsteps and enormous hisses and the Nerevarine’s grunts and clanging strikes against metal. Across the room from him, on the other side of the dynamo tower, there was another lever like the one he’d just pulled. He took a deep breath and sprinted for it, pulling it down.
There was another explosion. Harald ran behind the pillar and saw that the color of the light coming from the opposite side of the chamber had changed. No longer was it a purplish-blue; it had turned a deep rose, almost red.
I don’t know what I can do but red is usually a warning. I need to get over there to see!
There was no point in waiting for an opportune moment. There wouldn’t be such a thing. Instead, he just raced down the length of the space and up the stairs at its end.
The source of the energy was a much larger version of a power core than the ones he was familiar with. There was a problem, though; acrid black smoke flowed around it and just above the platform both he and it were on. The core itself was sparking and crackling. It looked very much to him like a thing getting ready to burn.
Harald looked around. There was nothing on the platform aside from a brazier of glowing stones at either side of the power core. Nothing looked like a control of any kind.
I have to turn this off. Those levers will just turn it back on if I flip them again. No help for it!
He drew his sword and, against his better judgment, began beating on the core. His first attack did nothing. Nor did the second. He howled in rage as he brought his sword straight down one more time, shattering the casing of the core. Harald scrambled back out of the way, yelping in pain as the fringes of the ensuing explosion caught him in spite of his heavy armor. He swung back toward the room and saw that the projections of Sunder had turned red. More importantly, there was no longer a beam of energy extending to the construct’s power frame. A perfectly incongruous thought ran through his mind.
Good. I was right about that much. They stop if you break them.
Another blast of steam from the colossus caught the Nerevarine, who howled. Harald tried not to panic. The man was actually not a man in the normal sense – he was an immortal, ancient, at least if he was who he said he was. He clearly could be hurt, but he also wasn’t in danger of perishing. He certainly seemed to be holding up his end of the bargain and keeping the construct distracted. The question now was where were the next levers Harald needed to pull?
He dropped down over the side of the platform, swung back toward the center of the room, and gasped. The Numidium had spotted him and was accelerating in his direction.
“Shor’s long… white… beard!” he cried out as he jumped over the piles of rubble directly behind him, hoping to find cover before he was steamed alive like a piece of seafood. Indeed, a billowing cloud of painfully hot steam came his way just a moment after he’d stepped behind a generator pillar; he could feel his face trying to blister in spite of having some protection, but it was only the Nerevarine striking the creature again that truly saved him.
“Face death!”
Harald heard the cry of challenge, the crashing of blade against metal, and the deep clang of the colossus turning back into the room. He took that moment to dash forward, straight toward the nearest stone pillar he could find that had a lever attached, and pulled it down, barely slowing. There was an explosion, and a second beam of energy turned red.
Only one lever? But… It doesn’t matter! Never mind! I need to shut it down!
He raced across the narrow part of the chamber and up the steps to where the power core was smoking and hissing alarmingly. He didn’t hesitate. This one was about to explode if left alone, and he didn’t want to see the kind of explosion that might result if it was still in contact with the power frame. He beat on it – three strikes, four – and finally it broke open in a shower of painful sparks. Looking around he saw that the projections of Wraithguard were red; but alarmingly, the projections of Sunder were blue again.
Gods, no. Let me finish this before they somehow power up again.
It was at that moment that he realized his dilemma. The Dwemer had laid this space out in the neat, regular formations that were the hallmark of their buildings. Four pillars; four levers. Four walls of the room. But there were only three beams of light.
Damn it! I’ve already pulled three of them.
But this core turned off with only one changing position. There’s another lever over here to my left that I haven’t touched. There has to be some kind of mechanism that I don’t understand handling things here.
Where do I go next?
He jumped down from the platform and darted right, to the second of the levers he’d thrown. When he raised it again, the explosion he’d expected happened somewhere near the remaining beam of energy.
I’ve reversed this lever; let me reverse the first one too.
The titan and the Nerevarine were in the still-steam-filled corner where Harald had nearly broiled, keeping each other occupied. Harald dashed across the space to the first lever he’d thrown and pushed it back up, ready to pivot left for the last powered-up platform.
Nothing happened.
Harald cried out in frustration. There was only one reasonable choice left to him, and that was to go all the way back down the length of this chamber to move the one lever he hadn’t touched yet. That would also mean running back to where he currently was, afterward.
Shor, give my legs strength to move.
He’d almost made it to the last pillar when the colossus turned directly toward him. It took all that he had to stop his momentum and back up to find some scanty shelter behind the archway at the foot of the nearby stairs. His heart was pounding in fear until he realized that the Nerevarine had once again come to his rescue by diverting the great machine’s attention. Harald gasped for air for a moment as it turned away and then crept forward the four or five paces left to reach the lever.
The final beam of light turned red. Harald raced back down the hallway. It was almost over, almost over. He’d break the core and the colossus would fall.
He was panting with fatigue by the time he made it to the final platform. Harald was young, and fit, and hardy; but he was a large man carrying and wearing heavy equipment that wasn’t meant for sprinting. It took all he had to whack at the core over and over, knowing that there wasn’t the sort of strength in his arm that he would have liked. When it finally cracked, and blew open, he turned back toward the room to wait for the satisfying crash of the Dwemer construct.
It was still moving.
Harald groaned. It was clear that the machine was slowing, having been cut off from its power source; but it was still hammering at the Nerevarine, and steaming dangerously. There was no help for it: he was going to have to get close to the thing and fight it. He was just about to move when something clicked in his mind.
I have a bow. I can help from here.
It was a light, elven-make bow, and he wasn’t very good with it; but Harald knew that as fatigued as he was, he would make an easy target for the great machine if he got too close. One blow from it, even as it lost its own power, would be the end of him. So he brought out his bow and aimed an arrow, his arm shaking from fatigue as he drew back the bowstring and released. He heard the tink of his arrow striking metal and groaned again.
“This is about as useful as…”
He didn’t have time to waste, though; so he fired again, and again. As his fourth arrow left the bow he heard a great clash of metal on metal and a grunt from the Nerevarine, followed by a huge, metallic groan as the gigantic weapon stopped, and crumpled to the floor.
By the gods. He did it.
Harald trudged down the stairs and toward the battered metal creature, his legs shaking partly in fatigue but also, he realized, from the aftereffects of multiple moments of sheer panic.
Mandyn Hlaalu said I was noble. He’s wrong. There isn’t anything noble about running away the way I did. But we both survived. I guess that’s what counts.
Harald came up beside the creature and shook his head at its enormity. Just one of the beast’s arms was longer than he was tall.
“I would have died so fast…” he murmured.
“Well fought,” the Nerevarine said, coming to stand beside him.
“You’re the one who fought. All I did was run and flip levers.”
“And that was what you needed to do, was it not?” He shook his head. “It seems this was not a true Numidium after all, and that is a very good thing indeed.”
Harald’s mouth fell open for a moment. “Not? Then what was it?” He couldn’t imagine, if this was not Numidium, what the real one must have been.
“A guardian of some kind, I would imagine. Perhaps this place had some special significance to Lord Kagrenac.”
Harald nodded slowly. “How would we find out? I’ve always been interested in the Dwemer and, well… I’d hate to have done all this and be left with a mystery after all.”
“I cannot say for certain, but I thank you for your help nonetheless. I have no riches to offer you as payment, but I can give you a weapon instead.” His face was hidden beneath the full helmet he wore, but Harald could practically feel the grin behind the armor. “I couldn’t help but notice that you used a bow as the creature was failing.”
“Yes,” Harald mumbled in embarrassment. “I was afraid my legs wouldn’t carry me across this hall again. I’m not much of an archer. I’m sorry about that.”
“Here, take this bow,” the Nerevarine told him, handing him a weapon that shimmered and glowed with power. Harald turned it over in his hands, wondering what sort of energy it was that he felt from it. “It will help you stay hidden if you have need of it. Now then, I must go. If you ever need advice, seek me out at the Shrine of Azura.”
Harald was about to ask him more about those things he longed to learn, but stopped in surprise. Without further fanfare the Nerevarine gathered energy into both hands and rose into the air, as if to cast an advanced spell, and then simply vanished. Harald stood gaping at the empty place where the immortal hero had been.
He took a moment, then, to move around the room in awe. He hadn’t had the luxury of examining all the gears, conduits, metalwork and fine stone carvings while running for his life. The platforms where he’d destroyed the three cores all still glowed with energy being generated somewhere else underground, or perhaps behind the walls of this tomb. The projections of Kagrenac’s Tools still shone above the vessels of glowing stone. He suspected that the energy must have something to do with that stone, but he didn’t know what and didn’t have a pickaxe with which to take a sample. Given how the cores had exploded, he wasn’t sure he wanted to try. It was exactly what he’d hoped for when he’d set out for Markarth – no, well beyond that, given the presence of a gigantic titan of a Centurion. And to think this ruin had been so much closer to him.
I should have come here first! Then I could have avoided killing…. Except that I didn’t know this was here until afterward. Maybe this was meant to happen this way.
Eventually, having made the rounds of the chamber, he arrived at the door he’d spotted on his way into the place, hoping that the key he’d found earlier would open it. He was not disappointed. The doors swung open to reveal a small room, partially destroyed but dominated by a stone dais holding a coffin. A pedestal stood between him and the dais.
Might be a trap. I think I’ll check everything else out first.
He turned left and began a circuit of the place. Against the nearest wall was a tall, square stone display holding a full set of dwarven armor. He looked at it, smiling. It would be worth a great deal if he took it to sell. It would also provide better coverage than his armor. But dwarven-make armor was much heavier than what he currently wore. He couldn’t imagine himself trying to explore more ruins wearing something that clanked the way the constructs clanked. He left the armor there, as well as the contents of a small chest against the back wall. The rest of the room’s periphery was empty; if there had been something to see originally, it had been buried by rubble. He turned instead to the dais.
Resting atop the coffin was a Dwemer-make warhammer, gleaming as though it had been polished this very day and humming with the energy of some kind of enchantment. Harald hadn’t much skill in that area, but something about this particular hammer seemed important.
I’m going to take this and get someone to look at it. Maybe I’ll take it to the Shrine of Azura and ask the Nerevarine what he knows about it. If it turns out to be important I’ll bring it back; I don’t want to be guilty of desecrating some important place. It feels as though it’s significant in some way, though.
He laughed silently at himself. He’d wanted to ask the Nerevarine more questions anyway and here he was planning how to do so not more than a few minutes after the man had disappeared.
Then he turned to the pedestal. There was a book atop it; unlike the other tomes in this space, long-since faded and decayed beyond use, it was in nearly-perfect condition. He flipped open the cover to find the pages covered with a text he didn’t recognize at all.
“Hmm. Not Falmer; I’ve seen that. Not Daedric.” He looked around the room again. It was a tomb in honor of Kagrenac, Dwemer-built. “Must be Dwemeris. I wonder…” The Nerevarine, or at least the original Indoril Nerevar, had been around since before the dwarves disappeared. Harald rubbed his beard.
“Well. Now I definitely have a reason to go visit him. He said to visit if I needed advice. I’ll take it up to the Shrine of Azura along with this hammer, and let him advise me on what it says.”
There was another unopened door in the opposite corner of the great chamber from that which held the coffin. He trotted across the space to it and found, just beyond the doors, another lift. He sighed, looking at it. This time there was no evidence of someone else having passed this way before him; the Nerevarine had transported himself away somehow, not taken the lift.
“Let’s hope it works as well as the other one did,” he murmured aloud, throwing the switch from left to right. “After all this, I’d hate to drop to my death.” He was rewarded with the groan of gears moving after Shor only knew how long.
A few moments later, Harald found himself blinking against the light of the outside world. He’d arrived in a stone structure enclosed with Dwemer-metal cage walls, a lever mounted on one of the pillars. These, he’d seen before, elsewhere in his travels. They couldn’t be entered from the outside. He’d peered into them, before, seeing but unable to reach the levers that would presumably have opened the gates. He changed the position of the lever before him. He caught movement in his peripheral vision and turned to see Mandyn Hlaalu approaching the opening cage door.
Harald frowned. He hadn’t expected to be followed to Kagrenar, particularly not by this person.
I didn’t expect him, and I’m more than a little annoyed. If he knew where the place was, why didn’t he come here himself? Was he sending me in as a shield, to clear the way for him?
“Ahh, there you are,” Mandyn said. “I was beginning to worry you wouldn’t be leaving that place at all. Now if you would be so kind, could you return that ring I lent you?”
Harald frowned. “Not even going to ask me whether I succeeded in my task?”
Hlaalu grimaced, but said nothing. Harald harrumphed.
“I want to know how you knew where to find me. You were the one who gave me the assignment to track down a ‘dangerous criminal,’ but it was Bal-Ran who told me where the man was headed. Bal-Ran is not a person of many words, and yet he had much to say about our friend the Nerevarine, describing him as a man of honor. He also didn’t mention meeting you. And I never mentioned that I was tracking a criminal; all I told Bal-Ran was that it was important I find the man. I can’t imagine he told you how to follow me. It was hard enough getting any information at all out of him.”
The Dunmer sneered, but his voice was polite. “Is it that surprising? House Hlaalu sent me after this man for a reason. Finding people is what I do, and following you was simple. Now the ring, please.”
Harald shook his head. “Not yet. When we met, you didn’t tell me who my target was. I could easily have been killed. I don’t take kindly to being used as bait or as a shield.”
He scoffed. “Oh, that. In my defense, I did not lie. He was a criminal before he was the Nerevarine. He arrived on the shores of Vvardenfell in chains, you know.”
Harald gritted his teeth. He’d been feeling anger growing ever since he spotted the mer, and this absurd excuse was just too much.
“Oh, please. That was well over two hundred years ago now if the stories are accurate. Are you telling me that you’ve been trying to revenge a grudge that’s two centuries old?”
Even as the words left his mouth, a shock of recognition and more than a bit of fear ran through Harald. He’d said much the same thing to the Nerevarine, before they fought the golem. And what had his response been? “I suspect I know your employers. I assure you, they are scum and you are but a puppet to them.”
Gods. There’s only one group I know of that will track a target forever, until the job is done. No matter how long it takes. The Nerevarine is immortal, but the Mer can live for hundreds of years. He squinted his eyes at Mandyn Hlaalu and frowned. Can it be? Is he Morag Tong?
Then another thought occurred to him, raising his level of alarm even more. He knew who I was when he sent me the note. Could it be that he’s “taking care of” another grudge, as well? He can’t easily get to Father and the castle is full of guards even if he made it in. What better way to bring down the High King than to ensure he’s the last of his line?
Hlaalu ignored his question, although Harald thought he saw a moment of surprise flicker in the mer’s eyes. “Names and titles matter little, now. Just return the ring. I won’t ask again.”
Harald shook his head. “I don’t think so. I’ll keep it as payment for my close brush with death.”
Hlaalu sneered. “A pity. Whatever was in those ruins seems to have taken its toll on your mind as well as your body. For the prince to die in such a state. Tragic.”
He’d been speaking to Harald in a relaxed stance, his arms crossed. But the moment he’d finished his sarcastic last remark he drew his blades and attacked, bringing his shortblade down in a powerful overhand attack. Harald swiveled to draw his sword, and that motion saved his life; for while Hlaalu’s blade bit down into the heavy pads beneath the hard plates of Harald’s armor, the plates themselves deflected most of the force of the blow. Hlaalu circled around him, moving into the lift shelter itself.
Harald raised his shield and tried to block the next attack, but his timing was off and Hlaalu’s blade sliced along his face. He grunted with the pain, unwilling to give the mer the satisfaction of hearing him scream, and made a huge backhanded swing with his sword. It landed solidly on Hlaalu, who likewise reacted with only a grunt in spite of the bloody stain spreading down the sleeve of his light armor.
He’s better than me, in spite of my reach, and he’s much quicker on his feet than I am. I need to slow him down.
“FO!”
Harald knew how effectively even the single word of Frost Breath, weak though it was, had stopped Madanach just long enough to make a difference. As he expected, Mandyn Hlaalu staggered backward, gasping at the pain of the cold. Even so, he rose almost immediately, to resume his assault as he circled around Harald toward the open gates. Harald managed to block the next blow with his shield, but not well enough to drive its deadly spikes into his opponent.
But Hlaalu was moving slowly, his muscles still hindered by the intense cold of Harald’s Shout. As Hlaalu raised his arm for another blow, Harald reached around his own shield and drove his sword through Mandyn Hlaalu’s heart. It pulled free with a squelching sound as the heavy Dunmer’s falling body dropped wetly onto the stone floor of the lift.
Harald looked down at the body, panting from exertion and rifling around in his pack for a healing potion. Mother will be beside herself if she sees me with an open wound on my face. At least I can close it up, even though a scar is inevitable. As he felt the potion’s warmth working to heal him, Harald knelt to examine the corpse. In one pocket, he found a folded piece of very yellowed paper that nearly crumbled in his hand as he gingerly opened it.
Honorable Writ of Execution: The Nerevarine
The afore-mentioned personage has been marked for honorable execution in accordance with the lawful tradition and practice of the Morag Tong Guild. The Bearer of this non-disputable document has official sanctioned license to kill the afore-mentioned personage.
A handwritten addendum scrawled on the bottom of the page noted that the target had last been seen heading for Little Vivec.
“So he was hunting the target of a two hundred year old grudge. How stupid. This is Skyrim, not Morrowind; the authorities here aren’t obligated to honor a writ issued generations ago. For all we know, the person who paid for this writ isn’t even alive anymore. And the Tong supposedly fell apart after the Red Mountain erupted,” Harald said to the dead body, groaning as he rose to his feet once more. “Even stupider – how did he expect to ever carry out this writ? The Nerevarine is immortal! It’s just all too ridiculous!”
Harald stepped out of the lift and looked out, down over the snowy mountainside toward the steaming volcanic tundra far below. The chill that ran up his spine was far colder than the air around him.
The Nerevarine was immortal; that much was true. But the son of High King Ulfric Stormcloak was not. Mandyn Hlaalu had to have known he could not ever fulfill this Writ of Execution. He could, however, use the pursuit of one contract to succeed in another.
Who wants me dead?
He settled his gear and started back down the mountain, his face set in grim lines. He would have to tell his father and mother about this, of course; but first he needed to get back to Little Vivec to talk to Bal-Ran once more. And then he intended to talk to his uncles. They had much more experience with politics than he had, in spite of being Ulfric’s son.
At the foot of the path he turned left, heading south toward Riften.