Without a word the younger of the companions halted the mule and hopped to the dusty ground to begin unloading the various spell components from the rickety cart. The pair of weary travelers had ridden for days to reach their destination. The short thin boy of fourteen summers brushed tendrils of flame red hair from his sweaty brow as he worked. His ebony robed companion, seemingly ancient and frail, climbed down from his seat and stroked his flowing gray beard while surveying the scene before him.

Ermla the Sorceror looked upon the megalith in awe. The structure of menhirs, a tower of stones, and the lintel stones connecting to it formed a gigantic circular pattern. The formation stood upon the open green plain like a blazing beacon to magic users everywhere. It was by no means the biggest of its kind. However, it was the most powerful to be found in the kingdom of Angla. This structure acted as a conduit to the realm of Dweoma - the dimension of magic. And Ermla intended to change the world at this very spot.

The wizened mage turned back to the heavy laden cart. The apprentice stared at his master and prepared to speak. But, instead, he turned his attention back to his task. The boy knew Ermla would have foreseen the upcoming conversation.

“Rest yourself and speak your mind, Arthum - as if I didn‘t know what it is that troubles you so,” said the mage as he settled himself upon a nearby stone bench.

“Forgive me Master but I still don’t understand this plan. There must be another way. Do you truly realize what you propose to do?” the apprentice replied with a look of confusion.

“Trust me, young one. I have forfeited many nights of sleep to this subject and have studied the prophecies. We have been witness to far too many dangers created by careless wizards. The reasons supporting my actions far outweigh the reasons opposing them.” The wizard turned his look to the menhirs.

“Thanks to a disagreement over money, feuding rivals have forever scarred the western continent with a great canyon. In the south, whole civilizations have ceased to exist due to matters as petty as land disputes. Abominable beasts never meant to set foot or crawl across this world now roam freely, no longer under the controlled by of the power hungry despots who summoned them. Even the entire continent of Alta has crumbled and slipped below the seas thanks in part to the mad quest for magical power. No, Arthum! I understand more than anyone. If this world is to survive, it must do so without magic,” Ermla finished with a sigh of resignation.

Even after days of debate, Arthum could still scarcely comprehend the mage’s words. He could not wrap his head around a world without magic - more so when the world’s most powerful wizard proposed it. It had taken days to travel here by mule and cart because of the wizard’s refusal to cast a spell of teleportation in an effort to conserve his strength. Most of that time Arthum had spent trying to convince the spell caster of his mistaken ideas.

Before leaving, Arthum had pleaded with Ermla to advise the Council of Mages of his plan but the old mage refused. Furthermore, he swore his apprentice to secrecy. Arthum hastily concocted a scheme to reveal the mage’s intentions by writing of them in his journal and “accidentally” leaving it in the common room of the Apprentice Dormitory. He hoped that some other curious apprentice would read it and alert a council member. The mage-in-training still held out hope that someone would intercept his master before he could complete the complex ritual. And while he didn’t go against the word of his Master’s decree, he couldn’t help but feel a small sense of shame, for his actions clearly defied the man’s intent.

“But Master what will you do without magic? It is your life!” at last the youth exclaimed.

The old mage stared at his young charge with a hint of sadness. After several moments he responded, “I suppose I shall have to retire. Perhaps I shall raise a garden, or some chickens, or whatever it is old people do. How is that?” A toothy grin split the ancient one’s gray beard.

Arthum did his best to force a smile. “Perhaps I could help you with that then,” he weakly replied.

“For now let’s concentrate on getting the components to the center of the megalith. It is there that I must perform the incantations.” The old man pointed with his staff toward the middle of the structure. “The summer solstice is upon us and this is the time that the barrier between the two worlds is weakest. The resulting increase in accessible energy will be necessary to fuel this complex enchantment.”

Arthum carried the various pieces of magical paraphernalia to the center of the stones and began laying them out for Ermla. A spell of this magnitude had never been attempted before and it required an enormous amount of spell components and magically imbued items. Arthum’s fatigued arms and aching back provided evidence that

the entire contents of the wizard’s laboratory made the journey with them.

At last the mage, ready to begin, glanced at the height of the beaming Sun in the midday sky and surveyed the horizon in every direction. With a slow motions,H he selected a scepter from a rack next to him and walked to his apprentice one last time, meeting the look of helplessness on the youth‘s face.

“Take this scepter and be prepared to use it if someone attempts to disrupt the spell. I will be entranced in the magic and if I am interrupted the ritual will fail. I suppose I ask too much for you to accept all of this now, Arty. But some day you will understand. Now listen carefully! I have spoken with Lord Bartram and he has agreed to give you a position in his manor. When this is over you will tend to him as a squire. Apply yourself and work as hard for him as you have done for me and you will be fine, my apprentice. I know you don’t believe me now but you are destined for greater things. I have foreseen it.” With this exclamation he hugged the boy momentarily, turned and walked back to the center of the megalith.

“You will be coming to Lord Bartram’s estate as well won’t you Master Ermla?” the boy shouted to the receding mage. “I will still be able to take care of you, won’t I?”

Ermla dared not turn back to face the boy for fear of him seeing tears beginning to dot the corners of his eyes. “Just remember what I said, Arty. Go to Lord Bartram. He is a good man!” he shouted over his shoulder.

The wizened mage stood in the center of the circles of stone and inhaled sharply. He slowly began the incantation. At first barely audible, his voice gained strength, resounding among the stones as he siphoned the magic swirling about him, and as he made complex gestures with his hands. Arthum heard the cadence and timbre of the man’s voice and knew the mage spoke the mystical language of magic. However, it was a spell with such complexity the young apprentice could only comprehend every third or fourth word. The hand signs were of a variety unknown to a mere novice. The youth recognized that a spell of this caliber would be unfathomable to all but a select few spell casters in the world.

A half hour passed and Arthum still watched the mage chanting, absorbing and extinguishing the energies of the magical items around him. It was maddening to know that with each word uttered and each gesture made by his Master his way of life drew closer to an end. All of his hours of training, his studies, his mundane choirs, completed for nothing. It would take so little effort to break the ritual but he dared not.

And then he saw his salvation on the horizon. At first it was a shapeless dot. But

it came ever closer and soon materialized into the form of a dragon carrying a human rider. His heart leapt with joy as he realized that, finally, someone had discovered his journal. That someone was none other than Master Moga, Ermla’s most trusted colleague. Arthum smiled as he thought of his savior swooping in on his magical beast, disrupting the ritual and convincing his Master of the error of his ways. Things would soon be back to normal.

However his joy soon turned to confusion when he witnessed Moga closing in fast with his wand in hand. Confusion turned to horror when Moga released a blazing bolt of crackling energy from the scepter and a fireball crashed into the earth, casting debris into the air and melting stone mere yards from the youth. As the detritus pelted him it was obvious the blast had meant to kill.

The mage‘s actions stunned the boy. Why was Moga willing to kill his best friend when simply breaking Ermla’s concentration would suffice? Would a mage really go to these lengths to protect his power? The conversations of the last several days replayed themselves and at last a bolt of clarity flashed inside the boy‘s head. He felt foolish for ever doubting his Master and realized in that moment what he had to do.

He gripped the scepter Ermla had given him and assumed the stance that his Master had taught him. One flawlessly spoken magical command later a bolt of electrical energy spewed forth and sailed toward the dragon rider. Arthum cursed as the lightning bolt flew past the attacking mage’s head. He glanced over his shoulder at his Master continuing to perform the ritual, oblivious to the events transpiring around him. The magical vortex above the megalith had become visible in that brief instant and the boy heard an unearthly shriek and saw one of the beastly inhabitants of Dweoma. Those sights and sounds radiating from the mystical vortex would fuel the boys nightmares for sometime to come. The apprentice snapped back to attention as the dragon rider shot over him and turned in preparation of another pass. He braced himself in preparation for another onslaught.

At that moment Ermla reached the climax of the spell and a bright flash resonated from the center of the megalith. An earsplitting thunderclap boomed from the circle of stones as the mystical gateway closed in upon itself, severing the magical world from the physical. Momentarily deafened and blinded by the collapse, Arthum knew his Master had succeeded at his task when he felt the magical energies drain from the scepter in his hand. It was as quick as the snuffing of a candle. The lifeless wand slipped from his hand and fell to the ground. He watched in disbelief as the dragon simply disintegrated beneath its rider and Master Moga fell to the earth like a discarded rag doll. A bone crunching thud silenced his piercing scream. Arthum watched the sickening scene only for an instant and then turned his attention toward his Master.

Ermla crumpled to the ground in a heap as Arthum bolted toward the mage. “Master!” he cried.

The ancient spell caster lay motionless as his young charge reached him. The boy dropped to his knees and propped the ancient one’s head in his lap. The man’s breath wheezed and rattled in the frail chest hidden beneath sweat soaked robes. A dribble of blood slid from the corner of his mouth. He slowly opened his eyes and looked up at the boy.

“Master! You’ve done it. The gateway is closed,” Arthum exclaimed.

“Yes….. It is done,” the man said in a hoarse whispered and then fell victim to a coughing fit.

“Rest now Master Ermla and I will help you into the cart and we can be gone from this foul place!” the apprentice said.

The mage struggled to speak. “No Arty…. My time is finished ….. Remember, yours is only beginning…. Find Lord Bartram.” The wizard gasped and his wrinkled faced relaxed into an eternal smile.

It was in that instant that Arthum fully realized the sacrifice needed for Erlma’s plan to succeed. Tears flowed down his dirty face. There in the center of a circle of cold gray sentinels, beneath those watching stones, he held on to his Master’s beaten body long after the last vestiges of life had seeped from it. He took no pride in being the only witness to humankind’s most defining moment. He would never repeat the tale of the day when the world’s greatest mage died or the part a novice played in forever banishing magic from the planet Earth.