but instead he found it to be as solid as steel.
Excitement rippled through him as he viewed the amazing weapon, and, seeing that a dark green arrow was already notched, he impulsively turned towards the mountain and drew the arrow to his ear. Smooth to draw, it wasn’t nearly as hard a pull as he'd imagined it would be, and he felt a tingle spread up his neck at the feeling. Taking aim at a tree that sat right against the rock, he loosened his fingers . . .
—With a snap the bow released its tension, and in an instant the arrow struck the tree, embedding itself so far that only the feathers remained in sight—and another arrow appeared to replace it.
Astonished at how fast the arrow had flown, Taryn leapt towards the impaled tree. When he got there, he was even more surprised to see that the arrow had gone all the way through the tree and penetrated the rock of the mountain itself! No bow he had ever seen could make an arrow sink into solid stone. His heart hammering, he returned to where he had shot the first arrow, took aim a few feet from the tree he had hit, and shot another arrow into the smooth cliff. While it quivered from the impact, Taryn raced across the ledge to find it similarly embedded halfway into the hard rock.
For twenty minutes Taryn shot arrows at various targets. Each arrow went exactly where he wanted it to go, and when he pulled the bow back as far as he could, the shafts embedded all the way to the feathers into solid rock or dense wood. After a few minutes he noticed the arrows he’d shot first had begun to fade away. Transforming the bow with a thought, he sheathed the blade and drew his father’s sword. Besides the writing, the weapon hadn’t changed, so what could it do? Recalling the glow along its edge, he remembered thinking it was becoming sharper.
Stepping close to a tree with a branch about as thick as his arm, he swept the sword to cut the branch. Yesterday he might have been able to cut the branch with the same sword, but today definitely felt different. The enchanted blade sliced right through the branch like it was a crisp stalk of celery. Turning to a branch as thick as his head, he cut through it just as easily. The sword glimmered dully blue as it cut the thicker wood. The same thing happened when he cut the wide trunk of a tree, except the sword flashed even brighter blue.
He smiled as the whole tree slid off the now angled stump and crashed to the ground. Glancing at a boulder nearby, he hesitated for a second before swinging the sword at the rock—and watching it cut right through!
As it sliced into the stone, the sword flared brilliant blue. So, Taryn mused, the harder the substance, the more magic necessary to cut it. The question was . . . how much magic did the blade contain and would it run out? He smiled as Murai’s words came to mind: “Always know the strengths and weaknesses of your weapons—and yourself.” Deciding it was better to know the limits of his weapons before a battle, and not during, he methodically began to make cuts in the mountain with his father’s sword. Each time, it would flash bright blue, but after the twelfth time the weapon only went partway through the cut before stopping as the blue fire extinguished.
The magic had lasted a lot longer than he had expected, and he nodded to himself as he made a mental note of its magical limits. Setting aside his father’s sword, he drew his mother’s weapon and changed it to the bow. As fast as he could, he drew back the arrows and fired them at the mountain. One after the other they sunk into solid rock. After the fiftieth streaked into place, no arrow appeared, so he began to count. It took thirty seconds for the first arrow he’d shot to disappear from the rock and reappear on the bow. Every five to ten seconds, the other arrows also vanished.
He forced himself to wait until all the arrows had disappeared and then began to shoot again, but this time shot only forty-nine arrows. He carefully
Excitement rippled through him as he viewed the amazing weapon, and, seeing that a dark green arrow was already notched, he impulsively turned towards the mountain and drew the arrow to his ear. Smooth to draw, it wasn’t nearly as hard a pull as he'd imagined it would be, and he felt a tingle spread up his neck at the feeling. Taking aim at a tree that sat right against the rock, he loosened his fingers . . .
—With a snap the bow released its tension, and in an instant the arrow struck the tree, embedding itself so far that only the feathers remained in sight—and another arrow appeared to replace it.
Astonished at how fast the arrow had flown, Taryn leapt towards the impaled tree. When he got there, he was even more surprised to see that the arrow had gone all the way through the tree and penetrated the rock of the mountain itself! No bow he had ever seen could make an arrow sink into solid stone. His heart hammering, he returned to where he had shot the first arrow, took aim a few feet from the tree he had hit, and shot another arrow into the smooth cliff. While it quivered from the impact, Taryn raced across the ledge to find it similarly embedded halfway into the hard rock.
For twenty minutes Taryn shot arrows at various targets. Each arrow went exactly where he wanted it to go, and when he pulled the bow back as far as he could, the shafts embedded all the way to the feathers into solid rock or dense wood. After a few minutes he noticed the arrows he’d shot first had begun to fade away. Transforming the bow with a thought, he sheathed the blade and drew his father’s sword. Besides the writing, the weapon hadn’t changed, so what could it do? Recalling the glow along its edge, he remembered thinking it was becoming sharper.
Stepping close to a tree with a branch about as thick as his arm, he swept the sword to cut the branch. Yesterday he might have been able to cut the branch with the same sword, but today definitely felt different. The enchanted blade sliced right through the branch like it was a crisp stalk of celery. Turning to a branch as thick as his head, he cut through it just as easily. The sword glimmered dully blue as it cut the thicker wood. The same thing happened when he cut the wide trunk of a tree, except the sword flashed even brighter blue.
He smiled as the whole tree slid off the now angled stump and crashed to the ground. Glancing at a boulder nearby, he hesitated for a second before swinging the sword at the rock—and watching it cut right through!
As it sliced into the stone, the sword flared brilliant blue. So, Taryn mused, the harder the substance, the more magic necessary to cut it. The question was . . . how much magic did the blade contain and would it run out? He smiled as Murai’s words came to mind: “Always know the strengths and weaknesses of your weapons—and yourself.” Deciding it was better to know the limits of his weapons before a battle, and not during, he methodically began to make cuts in the mountain with his father’s sword. Each time, it would flash bright blue, but after the twelfth time the weapon only went partway through the cut before stopping as the blue fire extinguished.
The magic had lasted a lot longer than he had expected, and he nodded to himself as he made a mental note of its magical limits. Setting aside his father’s sword, he drew his mother’s weapon and changed it to the bow. As fast as he could, he drew back the arrows and fired them at the mountain. One after the other they sunk into solid rock. After the fiftieth streaked into place, no arrow appeared, so he began to count. It took thirty seconds for the first arrow he’d shot to disappear from the rock and reappear on the bow. Every five to ten seconds, the other arrows also vanished.
He forced himself to wait until all the arrows had disappeared and then began to shoot again, but this time shot only forty-nine arrows. He carefully
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