College of Winterhold, Province of Skyrim, Tamriel

Year 4E 408, 12th Last Seed, 0913 hours

Urag gro-Shub raised his eyes from the book he was reading and frowned at the tall Dunmer entering the Library.

"Greetings, Archmage Othrelas. Please be mindful of my books!" he said.

"I know, Urag. I would rather confront a flight of dragons than stain a single page of the least valuable book here!" the newcomer said, a smile on his face.

"Good!" the gruff Orc librarian growled. "I have taught you well, then."

The Dunmer laughed. "That you have!" His face became serious. "But I didn't come for books. I cannot find that strange token I showed you two days ago. Perhaps I left it with you?"

"That you did not."

"I was certain I left it on my desk in my quarters, but I cannot find it now. I thought I forgot it with you."

"You did no such thing. If you left it in your quarters, it must be there still. No one enters the quarters of Archmage Othrelas."

"Darys, Urag. Just call me Darys. You know I hate that kind of formality."

"I do. That is why I use it."

Darys sighed. There was a bond between the two, forged through the months of studying together. He knew Urag enjoyed his 'gruff librarian' act and that he wouldn't change, not even for his friend – or his superior, for that matter.

"I will look again in my quarters, then. It may have fallen and rolled off into some corner."

The librarian lowered his book and looked at the Archmage. "There are no corners in your quarters. Your quarters are circular."

"Urag…"

"Sometimes I despair of your dimness, Archmage Othrelas. The token did not have legs or wings for it to move by itself. There were no earthquakes. If it is not in its place, it follows that someone took it."

Darys' eyes narrowed, a red glow awakening in them. "Are you saying someone stole it?"

"I am not saying anything. The facts are saying it."

The two mages looked at each other. Understanding passed between them without the need of words being exchanged.

"So it must be much more important than we thought, if someone would risk burglarizing the quarters of the Archmage of the College of Winterhold in order to procure it." Darys said, thoughtfully. "Have you made any progress finding out what it represents?"

"No" Urag said, frowning. "And that is what is annoying me." Darys smiled inwardly. It was the closest Urag would go to an apology for his gruff manner, even to his friend.

Urag stood up, waving his arm to take in the endless bookshelves in the Library. "It is not Dwemer. It is not Daedric. It is not even Falmer! I was not able to find any reference to it in any of the books."

"This is starting to get… interesting. Where do you suggest we search further?"

"This is the finest library in Tamriel. If there is no reference to be found here, I doubt you will find any mention of it anywhere else."

They were both silent for a minute, their eyes focused inwards, thinking about the problem.

Finally, Urag spoke. "There is only one repository of knowledge greater than the one I manage."

Darys' eyes lit up. "The Lexicon of Avanchnzel!"

Urag nodded and returned to his book. Nothing more needed to be said.


Avanchnzel, the City of Memory of the mysterious Dwemer. The place where they pooled all their knowledge and placed it into a small cube that could fit on the palm of his hand.

As Darys crept slowly through the corridors of Avanchnzel, memories flooded into his mind and made him smile.

I was here to return the damn thing. Now I have to take it back. Who says Fate does not have a sense of humor?

Dwemer ruins were never safe. Even though Darys already went through Avanchnzel before, he knew that the Dwemer automated factories kept fabricating their constructs, Dwemer spiders repairing any damage they could, digging for ore and looking for intruders. The remains of the automatons he destroyed while he was here were gone, probably taken away to be melted down and re-cast. The place was just as dangerous as when he walked its halls the first time.

Soon his suspicions were confirmed, as two Guardian spheres dropped from iris-like niches on the walls and sped towards him. His sword sang from its sheath and in the same move slashed through the closest machine's arm. He reversed the swing and the thing's head flew up, while the rest of the body kept rolling until it slammed into a wall.

A hard impact on his right shoulder spun him around, making him drop his sword. He lifted his left hand, concentrated, and the second sphere was consumed in a raging inferno of flame. The charred remains rolled for a few feet more and disintegrated into scrap.

He checked his shoulder and saw the bolt stuck in the armor. It did not penetrate, but the impact bruised his shoulder. He ripped the bolt from the dragonscale where it was embedded, threw it away and picked up his sword.

Darys smiled grimly. I was looking forward to the rest of my days in quiet study. So much for that. His smile widened. Can't say I'm not enjoying it, though.

After several hours of traversing the Dwemer halls and corridors, he came to the place he was looking for, the Boilery.

He paused in front of the door to give himself time to recover his breath. Getting here was not easy, but he knew what awaited inside was worse. It would be folly to proceed tired and with depleted magicka reserves.

He quickly took stock of his possessions, making sure that the potions – especially the healing potions – were at hand. Finally, feeling that he was ready, he entered the Boilery.

As soon as he stepped in he knew he was in trouble. The last time he was here, there were two huge Centurions protecting the place, but one of them had been destroyed by a small band of thieves that crept in and stole the Lexicon. The same band of thieves whose sole, demented survivor begged him to return the Lexicon to its resting place and release her from her madness.

Both Centurions were repaired, standing in their gantries. As he entered, the restraining bolts in the pods hissed open, releasing puffs of steam, and both centurions stepped down from their gantries to challenge the puny mortal that dared intrude upon them.

The first Centurion released a hissing cloud of superheated steam at him. He was too far for the steam to affect him, but it hid the automatons and made him lose his bearings for a moment. Suddenly, a glancing blow from the Centurion's hammer-like arm struck him in the chest and tossed him some ten feet, to land painfully on his back.

He got up quickly, ignoring his pain and breathlessness. The dragonscale armor absorbed most of the hit, but he would have a nasty bruise on his chest to remind him of his folly for several days. There was no more time for medical considerations, however, because the two huge constructs were quickly approaching. He needed to separate them and fight them one by one if he wanted to emerge victorious. He looked at the charging monsters and opened his mouth.

Fus... RO DAH!

The closest automaton was thrown back against the wall, where it fell with a deafening clank. The second one was staggered, and Darys, wasting no time, jumped towards it, swinging his sword in a wide arc. The dragonbone blade was stronger that the Dwemer alloy and it bit deeply into the creature's leg. Bereft of support, the Centurion crashed to the ground, as Darys lifted his sword and stabbed it downwards into the expressionless mask that represented the automaton's face. A huge cloud of steam boiled out and the sound of gears in its mechanisms wound down.

"One down!" he said to himself with satisfaction.

Quickly turning around, he saw the other Centurion striding towards him, raising an arm with a built-in battleaxe. The battleaxe swung, but Darys ducked. His dragonbone sword sung again, and the metallic hand with the battleaxe flew up, to land with a clang on the floor.

Any living foe would have been at least slowed down by the horrible wound, but the Centurion was a construct. Without even pausing, it swung its other arm, formed like a hammer, and struck a savage blow on Darys' shoulder.

Again, Darys was thrown several feet back, but this time the distinct sound of cracking bone and the blinding pain that shot from his shoulder told him that the damage was a lot worse than a bruise. He dropped his sword, ignoring the pain radiating from his left shoulder and concentrated. He lifted his right hand and a bolt of lightning shot out to strike at the automaton. The huge construct stopped in its tracks. Darys got to his feet, his left arm hanging uselessly, his right arm still extended, a blinding, sizzling electric arc still connecting his hand and the Centurion.

Darys kept the lightning strike going until the Centurion finally fell to the floor, releasing a cloud of steam, as if it was giving out its last breath. Darys dropped to his knees, breathing heavily.

With his right hand he opened a healing potion and drank it greedily. Dizziness overcame him when a fresh wave of pain exploded in his shoulder, as his bones moved to their correct position and knitted themselves together.

He knelt for a few moments, recovering his breath. The pain in his shoulder was much reduced, but he would have to see Colette at the College to make sure there was no lasting damage.

He got up, gingerly testing his left shoulder. He walked to the Lexicon Receptacle and touched it. The internal mechanism whirred and the Lexicon was released. Darys took it and gazed at the small cube, its sides barely two inches long.

"OK, that was the easy part. Now how in Oblivion do I read what's in there?"