I kept reading the class notes I brought to this assignment. I do hate getting up in the mourning’s, and the professors always give too much for the reading tasks. I wonder why they send the Processor class magicians to guard duty. We usually just spend time researching and compiling data. I guess taking down information is one of our specialties but we are pretty useless in a fight. Gahh, I want to go back to bed…

“Mage Botis, I see a caravan coming towards the city.”

Well I do like being called Mage. Technically being a Mage at twenty-two would put me in the smart category. Most people barely manage to reach Adept by forty. But I know from my professors that the rich families, with elf blood, can get to Arch-Mage by their day of adulthood. I suppose I should be happy with what I have.

The caravan reached the guards by the time I finished my musings.

“Halt, state your business and your magician class.”

The caravan halted, a few meters away from the guards. That is the general procedure to prevent Mentalists from influencing the outside guards, well not like it matters with those guards. Won’t really help them with Materializer category magicians, but magic doesn’t work within a Provided City anyway so at least ill be safe. The guards knew their duty. They had their chance to improve but failed. I leaned back in my chair. My job comes after the guards do theirs.

The caravan leader got off the wagon.

“My name is Raum, I am a merchant. I mostly deal in jewels and gold. I am a Processor class magician. I request entry to the Provided City of Dreadwood.”

The guards nod in agreement. Well there are no real problems with what the merchant said so far. Merchants usually take a Manipulator class or a Processor class. He didn’t mention his school, but most Mentalists don’t. His hired mercenary company is probably full of Materializers.

The guards start using the status stone on each and every occupant. Checking for wanted criminals, forbidden school affiliations, spies, and other unwanted people. The guards are worked over by a trained Manipulator before taking their posts. Usually from a Hypnotism school, Brainwasher school, or a Mesmerizing school. The Charm schools usually don’t do this kind of work since it’s gender dependent and easy to undermine. The guards can’t reveal the contents of the status stones to anyone, and they forget what they saw if it does not match the implanted criteria. Otherwise none of the Magicians would submit to this sort of search, my job is to simply record what the magicians tell me after this checkup. I’m also supposed to watch for any Mentalists who try to overwrite the guards. But if there was a sufficiently skilled Mentalist who can influence the worked over guards I won’t notice it anyway. I don’t really see the point of this since they can say whatever they want without the status stone to keep them honest. But the higher ups like to keep a semblance of control over the whole thing so who am I to complain.

The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

About fifteen minutes later the guards finish pressing the status stone to every member of the caravan. They nod in my direction to signal that everything is fine. Guess its time to earn my course credits.

As the caravan passes by the gate I record every magicians class. Most don’t even stop before grunting out the class and rushing past. Some of the Materializers also gleefully chime out their school. Like I care, the form doesn’t even have a space for a school, muscleheads, all of them.

“ David, Materializer, Augumenter class, Fighter school.”

“ Greg, Materializer, Augumenter class, Fighter school.”

“ Reje, Materializer, Augumenter class, Monk school.”

“ Yannik, Materializer, Elemental class, Fire school.”

“ Jirric, Mentalist, Mutilator class.”

…

There were a few interesting characters. The Mutilator was a rare sight for a caravan. I guess with jewels they expected bandits or some such. If his focus were pain or mind fracturing it would work on monsters too. Well depends on what they encounter. The other interesting one was a Transmitter. Those types usually charge an exorbitant sum and stay in one place. Typically they are employed as long distance communication officers in the army, large families, and guilds. There are the buffer type schools but its quite rare since the pay for the Telepath school is so much higher. I wish I had the aptitude for a Transmitter Class school. No, don’t complain. You are a Mage.

“Ahem.”

I try to cover up my dissatisfaction with my pay by coughing in my hand. The caravan has already passed and the guards don’t hear me. I was hoping for a “Are you alright sir Mage” or a “Can we do anything to help sir Mage.”

I am bored out of my skull.

I return to reading my notes, can’t slack off unless I want to end up like those guards, or worse.

I hear the left guard. I don’t even remember his name, speaking his spiel.

Then I hear the same line. I lift my head to see a peculiar man. It’s rare to see a single traveler in this part of the country, usually its well-armed caravans. There is nothing in the Bladewoods for the experienced magicians. They usually spend their time in the dungeons or exploring the edges of the know continent.

*bang*

The guard falls to the ground. There is blood leaking from his head. Goddamnit it’s a Force Materializer! Okay okay calm down, breath.

*hah* *hah* *hah*

Okay magic won’t work in a Provided City so I just have to run and get help from the patrol team. As I stand up,

*bang*

The other guard falls to the ground. Also bleeding at the head.

I turn to run to the barracks when I hear,

*bang*

“ARRGGGGG”

I fall to the ground, bleeding from my left leg. The pain courses through my body. It burns. It burns.

“IT BURNS.”

The man comes over to me slowly. Steadily. Like he’s done this thousand’s of times. I don’t understand how he managed to use magic inside the city walls. It’s unprecedented.

He grabs me by collar and starts dragging me into the woods. The multitudes of trees cover up the last I see of the city walls. It’s like he doesn’t hear my whimpering and or cries for help. I wonder if I will survive this.

I wish I were a Transmitter sitting in one of their high towers.