Caleb looked between the woman and the mare on the afterdeck. For a moment, there was only the sound of the night breeze, the flap of the sails, and the hiss of water as the Spitfire cut her way through the sea. He spoke to Tavia first.

“I agree with you. I don’t like leaving behind anything we can use to defend ourselves. But yes, in this case it’s absolutely necessary. We have no other choice left if we want to stay alive.”

Tavia’s jaw moved as if chewing his reply over. Finally, she nodded her acceptance. He looked to Sienna next.

“You asked how long we’ll be able to stay ahead of Delacroix if we ditch our cannons. Well, the answer’s simple. Long enough.”

“But–” she tried to object.

“In normal circumstances, we could argue about this,” Caleb overrode her. “But now’s not the time. Look, you trusted me to free you from the Myrkur’s dungeons. You trusted me to get you to the docks and steal this ship. Trust me one more time.”

Her expression mimicked Tavia’s as she wrestled with her decision. She let out a breath and nodded wearily.

“Aye, your judgement has gotten us this far, which is no mean feat.” Sienna touched her forehead and made a bow before rejoining the three men she’d selected as pistoleers.

Caleb then called down to Shaw. The griffin had remained in a reclining position on the main deck, but he sat up in an instant as he heard his name.

“Shaw! I need your help!”

“Thou hast but to ask,” came the reply. “What dost thou wish done?”

“We need to heave our six cannons over the side. Can you do that?”

“I shall recruit others to complete the task as quickly as possible.”

With that, Shaw turned and made his way to the forward gun on the larboard side. He called to the people on deck, beckoning with one paw to join him. Caleb couldn’t hear what Shaw said to them, though he did see a lot of nodding once the griffin gestured between himself and the cannon.

The group threw themselves into the task with a will. Restraining ropes were untangled, carriage wheels knocked loose. He watched as the group did a one-two-three heave, Shaw assisting with an extra shove from his leonine forepaws.

A creak, and the gun slipped over the side. It landed in the ocean with a ker-sploosh!

As if in answer, another double boom! came from astern.

Whizzing sounds cut the air, making everyone on the afterdeck duck reflexively. Both cannonballs hit the water close enough astern make the Spitfire shudder.

Caleb checked both fore and aft with the spyglass. Behind, the enemy frigate continued to bear down on them. Ahead and off to the left, the fogbank grew in size and thickness. But it came no closer to their line of travel. He made out the very fringes of the bank, fingers of mist extending towards their ship, but no further.

“We might not make it inside there on this heading,” Tavia said, keeping her voice low. “It’s still too far off to larboard.”

“I know, but we’ve got to keep that frigate from running us down first.” Caleb thought back to his Weathermancy spells. “There’s got to be something I can do with the magic I’ve got.”

He reviewed the spells he’d managed to activate so far.

Call Up Mist

Move Fog

Thicken Clouds

Wind Cast, Minor

Wind Shift, Minor

Dancing Lights

He considered. Call Up Mist hadn’t been all that useful back at Deephold Port’s docks. Since it was the first spell he’d gotten, maybe it just wasn’t that strong. Dancing Lights just looked like a good way to attract unwanted attention. Thicken Cloud might be helpful if ‘fog’ counted as ‘low cloud’. He looked around, and aside from the fog bank ahead to larboard, it was a cloudless night.

Speaking of fog, the spell Move Fog could definitely be useful. But since that it was the second spell he’d received, how strong was it? He cast his mind out, trying to grab the tendrils of mist that extended towards the ship. He came up with nothing.

Maybe I’m not close enough right now, he thought. But if I use my XP boost...

Caleb shoved that out of mind for the moment. That had to remain his last do-or-die option.

Shaw’s group moved to the forward gun on the steerboard side. Yet again, the men and women threw themselves into the task with a will. But the wheels on the cannon’s carriage refused to come loose.

The griffin motioned to the carriage, then made a lifting motion.

The humans helped raise the wooden frame just enough for Shaw to get his paws underneath. With a shared heave, they flipped the cannon over the side, carriage and all. The combined package made a dull thud as it bounced off the side of the sloop and into the water.

A double boom! from the Delacroix’s frigate announced another pair of incoming shots. These hit just short of the sloop’s steerboard side. The columns of water they raised ended up soaking several people in Shaw’s team. Gasping, they made their way to the next cannon down the line and began their work anew.

Caleb looked at Wind Cast, Minor and Wind Shift, Minor. The ‘minor’ in those spells didn’t instill confidence. But he reached out anyway and tried the first.

Come on! he thought, envisioning a howling zephyr coming in on the heels of the existing breeze.

He didn’t get a gale-force wind. But a fresher breeze filled the Spitfire’s sails, making the canvas billow out even further. Caleb’s heart leapt in his chest. A quick check in his spyglass confirmed that the Stone Angel wasn’t drawing any closer for the moment.

He took the steps down to the quarterdeck at a run, then leaned over the railing next to the helm. Caleb called down to Shaw as his group worked on the third cannon.

“Hold off on dumping that gun!” he called down, as he collapsed the spyglass and stuck it in a pocket. “We’re matching the frigate’s speed now! Be ready at the sails, I’m going to see about shifting the wind next.”

He got a tired cheer in response.

Donal remained next to Caleb, his hands still firmly holding the wheel. He shook his head in amazement.

“Shifting the wind? My goodness, what can’t you and your companions do?”

“We’re about to find out.” Caleb replied. “I’ll let you know when to change course.”

He reached out with his mind and first envisioned the winds filling the sail of the Stone Angel. If he could shift the wind powering the big vessel, he could slow it or send it skewing off to one side. Yet try as he might, he couldn’t find any purchase.

So much for that, he thought ruefully. I guess that’s why they call this Wind Shift, Minor instead of something more powerful.

Caleb shifted his focus back to the Spitfire instead.

He paid attention to the cool buffeting of the wind across his body. He sent his mind out, envisioning the breeze coming from a slightly different direction. From the north-east, instead of straight out of the north. He sensed the movement of the air against his face change even as the vision popped into his head.

“Donal,” he instructed, “take us two points larboard.”

“Aye,” came the reply, as the wheel spun. “It’s done.”

Caleb felt an ever-so-slight movement of the deck planks under his feet. The Spitfire heeled over a tiny bit as the sloop swung onto its new course. The fogbank lay just off the larboard side now, almost within reach.

Now, when he reached out with his mind, he could latch onto the tendrils of fog. He closed his eyes and extended his hand, drawing the bank towards him. Caleb heard a surprised gasp from Donal.

“The bank’s drawing close to us like a moth to a candle flame!” he exclaimed. “It’s patchy for now, but maybe it’ll get thicker.”

“I’ll try that next.”

Caleb tapped into his power again with Thicken Clouds, but once again, he found no purchase. Apparently, fog didn’t count as low clouds. So he switched back to Move Fog. The sketchy, patchwork nature of the fog became a semi-solid mist.

His rising hopes were dashed as Tavia called down to him from the afterdeck.

“We may have a problem here, Caleb. Delacroix’s keeping pace and right on our stern.”

Just then, another double boom! erupted from the frigate’s bow chase guns.

The first shot went wide. The second shattered part of the carved wooden taffrail that curved around the stern of the ship. One of Sienna’s men fell with a scream, a foot-long shard of wood protruding from his upper arm.

Tavia grabbed the man by the back of his shirt with her teeth. She dragged him over to the stairs leading to the quarterdeck. Sienna helped him the rest of the way down, even as blood ran down the man’s sleeve in scarlet rivulets.

“It’s just a scratch, Captain,” the man gasped.

“So it is,” Caleb agreed. “But I want you down below right now.”

Sienna helped him down the next set of steps, pausing only to transfer the man’s loaded pistols to someone else. Caleb ran his hands through his hair in frustration.

This is bad. We need to lose that frigate, now!

He reached out and drew down even more fog. Specifically, he pushed as much of it as he could into the stretch between the two ships.

A thought occurred to him. How much more magic can I spend on this?

With a blink, he brought up the trio of green, blue, and yellow horizontal bars. The green bar marking his physical health was still down slightly, while the blue bar showing his stamina had dropped to the halfway mark.

But the yellow one that showed his remaining magical energy was down to the bottom third.

Not good. I’d better be very careful how I spend the rest.

“Tavia,” he called, “how close does our friend Delacroix look back there?”

A second or two, then the unicorn replied, “A bit closer, I believe. But he’s just a faint shape through all this mist now.”

“Good.” Then he spoke to Donal once more. “Two more points larboard.”

Once again, the boards shifted under their feet as the ship answered its helm.

“The Stone Angel just changed course,” Tavia reported. “They’re right on our tail again!”

“They’re what?” Caleb sputtered. “But how–”

Delacroix’s chase cannon barked. Another riiiiip! of canvas came from above. A second ragged hole appeared in the mainsail, three feet above the first one.

A couple more holes like that, and we’re done for. How in Lir and Danu’s name is he able to track us so easily?

“Captain! Captain!” came a couple of shouts from above.

Caleb looked up to see the two youngsters he’d sent up to the fighting top as lookouts shinnying down the ropes as fast as they could. They jumped the last six feet to the deck and ran up to him, both talking at once.

“Captain, we saw how the frigate’s been able to follow us!”

“We need to show you!”

“All right, show me!” Caleb said.

They rushed towards the door leading to the great cabin. He pushed inside right behind them. His eyebrows shot up as he realized what had happened.

Caleb let out a string of curses as colorful as any uttered by Delacroix.

“Damn it all,” he finally gritted. “Maybe the Myrkur deserve to catch us.”