The merchant carrack drifts slowly upriver, zigzagging from one bank to the other to catch enough of the fickle wind in its three masts to combat the nearly imperceptible flow of the current. A few times this morning, the wind fell completely still or blew in the wrong direction, forcing the crew to take up long oars and row. Woodsmoke rises into the sky beyond the treeline, giving away the position of hidden villages or hunting parties. I wonder if some of those are hunting me. I smile. Let them search until they die, pesky stalkers. You will not find me.

  We laze around on an elevated deck aft of the ship, hiding from the heat and the afternoon sun under the shadow of the mizzen mast. Most young nobles are half asleep or watch the ducks and swans float by. Yuileen entertains herself by throwing them breadcrumbs, smiling at their antics and excited chatter. I am inscribing my new arrows under the curious glances of Alexander, who seems about to ask me what I am doing.

  “What a stupid game,” comments Ivan, the crooked-nosed Sir. He seems adamant about trying to chat up and impress a pointy-chinned noble girl called Eliana de Marcos. A distant relative of Kamoe that we picked up before departing. “He should have moved his rook to the open file. Amateurs.”

  She looks down to the middle deck with her large, round eyes. Her pale lips press together. “Hmm.” She leans back on the railing and flips open a fan to keep herself fresh. You may be wasting your time, boy.

  I store my arrows away and amble closer to see the game. The guard captain, a middle-aged square-shouldered mountain of a man, is playing the leader of the merchant’s mercenaries. There is tension in the air. The world is standing still, and time has died waiting for a move. The ship, the people, and the birds are just pictures in the background canvas. The calls of a heron that echo over the water are ambient music. The board is the center of reality. Gnarled fingers fall onto a bishop and remain there for a while. The tension reaches a crescendo. The bishop moves, traveling to the opposite side of the board, killing a pawn right next to the black king like a cannonball that fell out of nowhere.

  “No!” exclaims Ivan. “What is he doing? He sacrificed another piece for nothing!”

  “Turn to starboard! There is a sandbar,” orders the captain from somewhere. I blink. The tension cracks like a broken mirror. I can see him standing at the prow, squinting at the shimmering reflection of the low sun on the water. Oars splash through the placid stream. The sails hang flaccid.

  I look back to the board, where the tension is rising again. “Are you a chess aficionado, Sir Kalinich?” I ask Ivan.

  “What?” The teenage Sir looks up at me, seeming lost for a second. “Yes, young Fairy.” Eliana casts me an appreciative glance and exhales a relieved sigh, then turns away to continue fanning herself. “I am proud to say that I am somewhat of a player, too. I won the youth tournament in the city that my dear mother rules.”

  “Oh! Nice.”

  “I have to say, though, that the quality of the games there is way higher than what you can see here. The players I play against study and follow the modern standards and openings used by all the greatest players that compete in the empire-wide tournament.”

  “So, how would you interpret the current position on the board?” I ask.

  “You like the game too?” His face illuminates, reborn with an injection of new life. “Well, black is winning,” he declares. “The last move was idiotic, once the King eats up that bishop, black will have a two-piece advantage. White will not hold out long against that.”

  I look at the game. What is he talking about? The mercenary may have the material advantage right now, but the captain has a lot of dynamic compensation. I am not even sure it is a good idea for the black side to eat the bishop. All of the white pieces left are active, prepared to overwhelm the position of the black king. Half of the black pieces are on the wrong side of the board, hindered by their pawns from coming to the rescue. Yeah, I think white is winning.

  The mercenary moves one of his rooks to kill one of the white knights. Leaving it exposed to capture in the white side’s next move. Even material is equal now, though the sacrifice has changed the momentum, giving black enough time to bring the rest of his pieces into play and continue the game. Is it equal now? “Though it feels there is something to it, is there not?” I mutter.

  “Hmm, yeah,” acknowledges Ivan, “that move seemed strange, but somehow it felt necessary.” He rubs his eyes. “What is going on?”

  “How did they even arrive in this position?” I ask.

  “Oh! Let me explain. They played the Galevian opening. That is when both open up by putting their king pawn into the center, followed by an attack on the black center pawn with the white king-side knight, which then is defended by the black queen-side knight. Then, both developed bishops. White should have followed by playing in the center. That is the current meta. Every serious player plays it. But instead, the guard captain decided to gambit a pawn. Which made him lose a piece later on, but somehow, he managed to hang on until now.”

  Another piece moves, seeming to shift the momentum of the game. Now, white is winning again. I replay the explanation Sir Ivan gave me in my mind. The game seems to have gone on like this for quite a while. Every move is crucial, the advantage shifting from side to side without anybody gaining a clear upper hand. That is why it feels so tense. Or maybe it is because both players are high-ranked mages who carry a certain weight with them. It feels like their actions are more real. They have a certain presence that calls for attention. Most non-working mercenaries and crew watch the game, too. Only the nobles ignore it. They must have been exposed to such presences often.

  Thunder roars through the air. The head of the ship captain explodes into a shower of gore like an overripe watermelon after being hit with a stick.

  What is this? Have my pursuers found out about me? About my deception?

  “Bandits!” screams someone. The oars fall silent.

  The guard captain and the mercenary jump up, toppling the board over. Chess pieces roll everywhere. Thunder roars again. Something heavy pierces through the sails of the mainmast, leaving a jagged hole in the fabric. “Not bandits, rebels!” screams the guard captain. “Get the ship into the center of the river. We are too exposed here. And put the shields up!”

  Rebels? They are not my pursuers, then. The tension I was not aware of leaves me. They can’t be. It wouldn't make sense. Why would they attack me here, surrounded by people, mercenaries, and guards eager to defend their noble patrons?

  Love this novel? Read it on Royal Road to ensure the author gets credit.

  Confusion reigns for a while. Finally, the first mate takes over for their dead captain and starts organizing the rowers. The ship drifts away from the closest bank.

  Small boats appear, from the middle of a field of swaying reefs. The ducks and the herons dart away, slicing through the water, before taking to the air and scattering crying out in a wild cacophony. More boats appear, swarming towards us like an army of water striders.

  “?Pfft. They don’t know who they are attacking,” snorts Kamoe. She takes out a rune-covered cube out of her spatial ring. A shimmering, translucid shield appears around us.

  “Yeah,” agrees Yuileen. “Captain Ander is going to make mincemeat out of them.”

  I watch the fight, doubting her words a bit. Right now, the guards and mercenaries are starting to return the fire with volleys of arrows, flinging the occasional flame or ice ball in between. Without much effect, though. They are still too far away, and the few arrows that do not plunge into the water are easily deflected by big metallic shimmering shields the rebels standing in the front of their boats carry. We are not far enough away from their strange metallic sticks, though. They spit fire and metal into the midst of our mercenaries with thundering roars.

  I take out my new bow and the few arrows I managed to inscribe. Let us see. Should I try my attempt at a blinding arrow? The one that has a rune designed to emit a quick burst of bright light triggered by the impact? Or should I try the invisible arrows, which I am sure will work how they should because they use a rune that I have tested multiple times before? They can not block what they don’t see. I should use my invisible arrows.

  “Does the shield work both ways?” I ask Kamoe.

  “What?” She looks up from the battlefield and takes me in. “Ahh, no. You can shoot out without a problem. Have fun!”

  The gaggle of nobles is waking up now. Most of them glance at the incoming boats.

  “Oh! Look at those fools!”

  “What do they think they will accomplish.”

  “This is what? The third time bandits have attacked us since leaving Deepwater?”

  “As if it wouldn’t end up the same.” Some snickers.

  Thunder roars, and something cracks against the shield Kamoe activated. A grape-sized metal ball falls onto the ground with a ping and starts rolling over the planks of the deck with each sway of the ship. More snickers and laughter erupt among the nobles.

  “Idiots!”

  “They should point towards the merchants if they want to accomplish something.”

  “Not that it would do much either now that they lost the advantage of surprise.”

  Another booming thunder, a mercenary cries out and falls over the railing. A cloud of darkness tints the waters around him.

  The water comes alive. A dark writing mass surges upward out of the murky depths. Sleek, glinting bodies dart closer with terrifying speed. Silvery bellies flash and reflect the sunlight. They fall over the poor man all at once. A ruthless frenzy of snapping jaws and thrashing fins rips and tears the poor man apart. He tries to reach onto an oar, panicked eyes wide open. But his blood-soaked hands slip over the wood, and he falls back and disappears into the crimson, frothing waters. I shudder. Nobody seems to care or be overly concerned about it. They are mere spectators of a show, there to amuse. The worries of the common folk are beneath them.

  I shudder and step closer to the railing, to the limit of the shimmering shield. It buzzes and grows more solid briefly. Another metal ball falls onto the planks, robbed of its momentum. Now could be a good opportunity to test the shield I designed myself, too. No. I can’t risk for it to fail. I have no idea how well it works. I need a partner to test it out. I need someone to shoot at me in a less stressful and not lethal situation. But there isn’t anyone here I trust enough to show them all my cards. I should keep a few of them hidden, just in case.

  I stand with one foot slightly forward, trying to balance out the moving ship and steady my aim. I nock and activate the invisibility effect of the arrow. I point a few degrees above my target to account for the drag of gravity, and then I draw. The wood creaks faintly under the strain. I breathe in and turn out all noise, all the chatter and distractions. There is only the bow, the arrow, and my swaying target. I feel the taut string against my fingertips. My arms are steady. My eyes narrow in focus and follow my mark. My body sways with the waves until everything aligns. I release the string like The Crow taught me so long ago. Just a soft caress that surrenders the carefully held tension. The string snaps free, and the stored power surges forward. Only a hiss marks the path of the invisible arrow, slicing through the air. I feel the string rebound. The bow vibrates like a guitar. For a heartbeat, I remain still. My fingers tingle from the sudden absence. I hold my breath, eager to see my target stumble and plunge into the water.

  My arrow reappears, smashed into the hull of the boat. I can see the man I targeted lean forward, taking the still-vibrating shaft in. He looks up towards the ship, then finally remembers to shield himself. I would have caught him by surprise, but my shot went a few feet too low. Darn! I should have practiced with my new bow before to discover its quirks.

  “Nice shot,” praises Alexander. I flinch. When did he come so close to me? “And a nice effect on the arrows.” He takes another one out of my quiver and studies the runes. “How does it work? Can I try?”

  “Sure.” I hold the bow towards him. He takes it, brushing his hand on mine. Was that intentional? “Emm, just pulse a bit of mana here to activate the rune before shooting.”

  “Understood.” He winks at me. I turn away. Is he trying to flirt? “Huh? This bow has a lot of draw strength. You are stronger than you appear, Minae.”

  “Really?” asks some guy. “Do you think she is stronger than me?”

  “How should I know?” Alexander takes a shooting stance. “She is strong if she can draw this. Well, strong for a girl.”

  Some idiot snickers. Prick! Both of them are pricks.

  The string snaps forward with a ting. A second later, one of the rebels or bandits catches his stomach and stumbles backward into the water. What the heck? How did he manage that on the first try? People around us whistle, holler, and applaud.

  “That’s how you do it!”

  Another invisible arrow flies. Another bandit stumbles and falls a second later. Okay, I give up, he is really good. He must practice regularly.

  I take in the wider scene, the rest of the battle. The Guard captain stands on an ice board, surfing over the river. More ice forms all around him. A towering figure clad in armor full of glowing runes darts towards him. Walking on the surface of the water as if it is solid ground. They start to fight it out between themselves. Ice and lightning fly left and right. A sword crashes against a glaive. The well-armored bandit realizes that the guard has the advantage of reaching there, so he ducks back and tries to create distance in a blur, but the guard follows close behind. Their clash takes them further and further away until they are just distant blurs.

  Meanwhile, the leader of the mercenaries waves his arms, standing on the bowsprit. Waves of river water rise all around him, higher and higher, following the movement of his arms. I feel like I am watching the conductor of an orchestra. Disoriented fishes whirl around, suddenly finding themselves in the air. Some of them land on the deck and flap around in panic, trying to escape back into their natural habitat. The bare muscles of the mercenary’s arms tense, pointing straight into the sky. The water swirls together into an immense wave, higher than the mainmast. Then he pushes his arms down, and the waves rush outwards like a tsunami, swallowing and toppling all the incoming boats.

  A few seconds later, the guardian captain tosses a beaten, deformed metal can, hiding a bleeding and unconscious man, onto the main deck.

  “I got the bastard. Let us see if he can tell us how those bastards got here.” He kicks the destroyed breastplate. Runes spark and sputter out. The rebel doesn’t move. “Well, once he wakes up.” The guard captain looks up, taking in the crowd gaping at him. “What are you all looking at? Move! We are running late already.”

  “Emm, Sir Knight,” mumbles the first mate, looking terrified.

  “What?” grunts Captain Ander.

  “They killed the captain.”

  “So? That means you are the captain now. Go on, organize your sailors.” The middle-aged man darts away and starts shouting orders. “And someone, please volunteer to pull that rebel out of his can and bind him with mana-suppressing shackles. We need answers.”

  “Isn’t he cool?” whispers Kamoe.

  I look at the scraps and pieces of the once-imposing armor. I would love to study the runes that have survived. Can I swipe it away, somehow? I could volunteer to peel the man out of the can, as the captain ordered. No, that is a job for the hired hands. It would be unbecoming of a Lady. I don’t want to draw too much attention to myself. Let us hope to find something similar another time when I don’t have to play a role.