It had been a week since Clay had helped Cassy, the locksmith, find her stolen ring. She had been true to her word and had indeed told her friends. The first had been an elderly woman by the name of Harriet, who was suffering from a very persistent rat. It had taken less than a day for Clay to create and a few anti-pest wards to leave in the older woman's pantry. The pay had also been quite nice: a handful of coppers and the best blackberry cobbler he had ever eaten. The second job was a bit more complicated. It seemed that Cassy knew more than just old widows and had told her friend Timothy Whits about Clay as well. Timothy was one of the more prosperous merchants in the small town. That meant he had been around a bit more than many of the town's residents and knew the value of a good Spellwrights.
He had come by Clay's home late one afternoon as the wizard started the process of cleaning the old water wheel to see what would need to be replaced and repaired. The man had arrived with a bottle of wine and a weighty proposal. Cassy's opinion held a lot of weight for Timothy, and as such, he had decided to shop locally instead of using one of the city's Spellwrights to do the enchantment on his carts.
It had been a long time since Clay had done such enchantments, but he remembered them well. A bit of magic in the spokes for durability, a spell or two on the axle to reduce friction meant the horses could pull the wagon faster. There was less wear, a bit of strength added to the wood just to ensure nothing broke, a bit of work to ensure no accidental fires broke out, and for good measure, a few charms against pest. They were all enchantments he had done hundreds of times while he was young and still learning the basics, and he had done even more of them when he was at school.
Clay had, of course, agreed to the offer right away, and at a five silver or half a gold a cart, it was a very reasonable offer. Clay knew that the actual going rate was closer to a gold, but he was fine losing out on a few silvers per cart if it meant his number of clients kept growing. Besides, given his experience, he could probably do the work in about half the time, so it worked out in the end. Timothy had left that evening after the two of them had shook on the deal, leaving the rest of the bottle behind.
That was why Clay had his lanky form crouched next to a wagon wheel in a warehouse that was a bit too hot to be comfortable. He could feel sweat rolling down his back, and his scarf was left to hang loosely around his neck as he worked. With a , steady hand, he used a small chisel to make thin grooves in the wood of the wheel. After each line was finished he would follow the grove with a brush dipped in black paint.
The work was exacting and monotonous exactly the kind of thing he had been looking for when he came to Pattson. He threw himself into it, letting his mind hold the construct in places as his hands worked nearly independently on one another to carve and paint. With each completed line, he felt a small pit of his power leave him through the tools and flow into the wheel. At the same time, the paint would shift from black to a dull silver. The spell was not so powerful as to cost any more than that bit of power and his concentrated will. With each section of the spell that he completed, the wheel became a more unified whole. The joints that would typically be the weak points of the structure were reinforced and properly tightened.
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Somewhere at the back of his mind, he was impressed by the craftmanship of the carts. It seemed that Timmonthy understood the importance of skilled labor. He would need to ask if the carpenter was local or not because there were a few projects that he could use an experienced hand with around his new house. Filling the thought onto his ever-growing to-do list, he devoted his full focus to the wheel as the last lines were carved and filled.
When he finished with the last spoke, the whole spell clicked into place. It was subtle as good spell work should be but a keen eye would notice the dull grey lines and symbols along the inside of the spokes.
He stood with a groan as the scarf wrapped itself around his face. He took a moment to stretch his back before focusing on his spell. He could see the power flowing through the wood at a steady pace. He could admit to himself that it was good work that should last a year, barring any unexpected accidents. Pretty solid work for something so basic. Though it was the basic magics that made the word turn. He had learned that on the road. People cared a lot less that he could fling magical beams of heat at monsters and far more that he could make it so their feet stayed dry in the rain.
The sun was setting outside the warehouse its windows casting long pillars of shadow across the floor. He took a moment to look into himself and see how much power he had left. Sitting at the center of his being was the mental construct he had of his power. To him, it appeared as a brick cistern filled with crystal blue water. It was different for every practitioner he knew, but for most, it was something similar to what he pictured. The water in that wellspring of power was still over half full and climbing steadily as his body and soul worked to draw in power from the world around him.
He decided that he should have time to finish the axels on the second cart before calling a day and heading to the Drunken toad for dinner. With an effort of will, he pulled the spell to the front of his mind as he lowered himself to the ground and shimmied under the cart on his back.
The spell for the axel was more straightforward than what he had used on the wheels, but it did require more power overall. He channeled his will and power into the chisel as he began to carve symbols for movement into the wood. With each completed symbol, he reinforced what he wanted to happen to the axel in his mind. He wanted it to be smooth like glass. He wanted the wood to glide across itself easily. With each layer of will, more power was required. What had started as a small effort of will became a real push. He could feel sweat bead on his forehead as he shoved the last layer into place. It was worth the effort when he ran his hand over the axel and it felt as smooth as polished gold.
After a few moments of rest, he moved on and did the same thing to the next axel. By the time it was done, he felt more wrung out than he had in a while. It was a good feeling though, the sort that only comes after a long day's work. Both his mind and his body were tired, and it was wonderful in some ways. He was about halfway through his first big job as a Spellwright, and the work was going well. In just a day, he had finished the first cart and was well on his way to finishing the second. He knew that he would probably be even faster tomorrow as the old muscle memory of the enchantments came back to him.
He had put in a good day's work and now it was time to go and get himself a proper dinner. As he left the warehouse, he made sure to lock the door on the way out. "What do you think they are serving for dinner, Mac," He asked aloud. A moment later, he was answered by a squeak from his bag.