There were always one or two; this had been expected, if not actually noticed. The mageling tightened up a little, forcing the black energy into useful form, willing it back out of his body and into the weapon once more.

Only his eyelids quivered now as he gathered the remaining black ice, routing it around the impurities, channeling into a new wave, burning the surface of the bow into a polished mirror that gleamed even in the low morning light from a nearby window.

With a thought, Arhan was done. One more extravagant command, and the ice exploded off the surface of the bow, snapping back into his ring.