It was noon the next day, and clay was crouched in the back of the final of the three carts. The wheels and axels had been finished already, and he had moved to strengthen the cart's main joints. He was pleased that Timothy had wanted the enchantment. He had seen many traders and caravaners write it off since it neither protected the cargo nor made the trip any faster. Those people were foolish, though when on the road, a trader's cart was more than just a means of transport; it was their home and livelihood. The enchantment he was doing may not have been fancy, but it ensured that the cart would keep rolling in all but the most extreme circumstances.

  So he crouched there in the giant wooden oven that was the warehouse at noon. Sweat fell from his brow under the great yellow hat, and even more rolled down his back and his arms. His mind ignored all that though as he bent it to the task at hand. One hand carved and the other painted solid, sturdy lines, symbols meant to absorb and disperse shock just as much as strengthen the wood. His hands had moved with increasing speed from one cart to the next with each, his muscle memory returned as did the ease of holding the spell construct in his mind as he worked.

  It wasn't long before he stood in the back of the wagon, hands above his head as he stretched.

  "You know, Mac, sometimes I wish I had been born a bit shorter. Feels like I've spent a quarter of my life hunched over in some way or another," a furry white head poked its way out of his bag and squeaked at him before diving back in, "fair point, at least I don't have to climb countertops as you do. Besides it's not so bad now that it's not skulling through low ceiling tunnels at least here I have the option to stand," he said hoping out the back of the wagon.

  He walked over to the bag his little rat friend had stuck its head out of and retrieved the water skin from it. After a few greedy swallows of the unfortunately warm water inside, he caped it and pulled his staff to him. It clatters up off the ground in response to his will before landing in the palm of his hand.

  "What do you say we try to do something about the heat for a moment," he asked the white rat, who just twitched his tail in a get-on with its motion.

  Clay chuckled for a moment before focusing his will on the staff, letting power slowly flow into it. As the power built, he began to trace a circle around the capped water skin on the ground. Once he completed the circle, he formed the spell in his mind and let the power go to work. Slowly he watched frost appear across the surface of the leather as he leached the heat from that small section of the room. He could feel it escape from the top of the staff being harmlessly dispersed back into the room. He held the spell for about a minute before cutting off the flow of power and letting the spell fizzle out.

  When he reached down to pick up the water skin he could feel small chunks of ice within the leather. He grinned at the feeling congratulating himself on being a wizard before taking a few more large swallows. The water was ice cold, and it rolled down his throat and into his stomach in a most satisfying way. He then rummaged in the bag a bit to pull out a small bowl which he filled for Mac. The little rat all but ran to the water first drinking and then using his little paws to work it into his fur.

  Clay took a brief look inward, checking his reserves of power. He had been going hard since he had arrived at the warehouse a few hours earlier and even without the flashy bit of water cooling he was starting to run low. Rather than push to empty, he decided to stretch his cramped muscles for a bit while his mind rested and his power replenished.

  Thankfully the warehouse was large and mostly empty as Timothy waited for the enchantments for his carts before ordering more stock. Clay walked across the hard-packed earth of the floor, staff in hand, until he stood in the center of the empty space. Then he began to go through long engrained staff drills. He kept the movements slow and precise, focusing on how the muscles moved with each strike and block. He paid particular attention to his footwork. Though it had been months since he had received the artificial foot, he had not yet fully adapted to it. So as he stepped through strikes and braced himself to block, he focused on the feel of the living wood limb within his boot. Trying to learn just how quickly it reacted to his will and just how much it was capable of minute adjustment all on its own. He did not practice for too long, maybe half an hour, just long enough to work up even more of a sweat and help his tight muscles relax and loosen up.

Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

  He sat down next to his now napping companion and took a few slow drinks of the thankfully still chilled water. Then he reached into the bag and retrieved the block of clay he would need for the Anti-pest wards. He pulled two small handfuls of the clay, setting one aside and starting the process of getting the other ready to be worked. As he did so, he looked within himself and was happy to see that his reserves were well past the halfway point. He would have plenty of power to finish off the last cart.

  Once the clay was malleable between his fingers he began to focus his will on it. As he did so, his hands began to work the small ball of clay into shape. He stretched and pulled the clay smoothing it with his fingers as it took the shape of a cat. With each minor adjustment to the little figure he made, he sharpened the image he was holding in his mind. That being the most effective and brutal mouser he had ever seen. It had been on a ship he had taken along the coast. He had watched that cat hunt dozens of little stowaways over the course of the two-day trip. He saw in his mind's eye the white and black coat, the slightly torn right ear, and the easy grace that all cats have. All the while, his fingers shaped the clay, and he fed power into the little ward. With each drop of power that he let flow into the clay, the more solid it became, the shape of the head became solid, and so did the bend of the tail. By the time he was done, he had a clay figure of a cat ready to pounce resting in the palm of his hand, and it was harder than the average stone. He sat the cat to the side and sat about doing the same with the second piece of clay.

  Except he would not make a cat; instead, it would be an ant. In all his years, he had not found a better focus for warding off insects than to make them believe that the cart was swarming with ants. It was thankfully easy today since bugs were very bad at disbelieving illusions. Between the two wards, the cart should stay pest free for about a year. That was how long the clay could hold the power he had placed in it before breaking down.

  Once both were done, he used a bit of magic to affix them on top of a small lip under the cart. That way, they would both be hidden and out of the way enough to hopefully keep them from getting broken by accident.

  With the wards for pests done, there was only one thing left to do before he was done with the job. He needed to ward the cart against fire. It wasn't the easiest of tasks. Warding against fire was tricky for several reasons; the largest problem was that you needed to ward it in such a way people could still use fire in their lanterns and such. It lead to a very complicated spell. The good news, though, was that it was an entirely mental spell no carving or paint required, just his power and his will.

  He stood and picked up his staff as he did so. Then he hopped up into the back of the cart. After a few deep breaths, he began to pull the spell together in his mind. At the same moment, power began to flow form him and into his staff. It traveled up the wood before collecting as a point of light in the crystal sphere at its head. Once he had the spell held in his mind, he began to trace it along the wagon. He started at its perimeter before slowly working his way in. With each line of power traced the spell became more and more complex. It would allow a flame to burn but not to start. Even if someone were to drop a burning torch onto a hay bale as long as it was in this cart the fire would not spread at least until the power of the spell ran out. That was why he was being liberal with the power that he shoved into the spell. There was no reason to hold back; the more he fed it, the longer it would last.

  Long minutes passed as Clay took small careful steps in the back of the wagon, as his staff flowed along lines of power that only he could see. Those minutes turned into an hour before he was finally done, and the spell let out a brief flash of arcane light before settling into place entirely invisible unless looked for specifically with magic.

  Clay let out a long breath as he pulled the bit of power he had left into the crystal at the top of his staff, letting the permanent enchantment there convert the power into mage sight for him. Looking through the crystal, he inspected his work on all three carts. He was tempted to go back and redo some things on the first, but after a bit more inspection decided that he had done more than enough.

  He began to gather up his things, placing the clay and the other tools he had used in his bag. While he did so, his scarf wrapped itself around his face, and Mac clambered up his side to hide in it. All that was left now was to go and speak with Timothy about his pay and maybe work out a few future deals with the man.