Caleb could do nothing but hold on as Delacroix’s chase cannons erupted with a flash of light and an ear-splitting report.

One shot struck the sea just short of the Spitfire on the aft larboard quarter. The cannonball then skipped like a stone across a pond. It bounded up to strike the hull at the waterline with a low-pitched bwam! The sloop jounced forward and to the side as if it had gone over a speed bump in the water.

The other shot came in high, making a whizzing sound as it cut the air. It ruffled the mainsail, then cut the line that Sienna’s team had been using to haul up the third jib sail. A pair of crewmen toppled over on the forecastle deck as the remaining lines holding the sail parted with a snap! under the tension.

Freed from all connection to the ship, the jib sail flew off the deck as the wind caught it. The triangular mass of fabric jerked skyward with the breeze, fluttering off cross the water like a startled bird. Caleb shook his head as he watched it go.

So much for that advantage in speed, he thought. But if we can’t easily get out of range, and I get countered every time I shift the wind, what do I have left?

The answer came as soon as he asked the question of himself.

Then at least I can make us a harder target to hit.

A vision of how Delacroix’s frigate had been laid out came into his head. One of the biggest disadvantages of naval gunnery on board a sailing ship was the limited arcs of fire. It simply wasn’t easy to angle a heavy cannon more than a few degrees, at least not quickly.

The Stone Angel’s chase guns covered a limited area directly ahead of the ship. Her 16-gun broadsides made a killing zone out of anything off to the sides. That meant there were two narrow areas of safety off the larboard or steerboard bow if one were being chased by the frigate.

“Tavia!” Caleb said, as he pounded up the steps to the afterdeck. The mare looked up from where she’d continued to attend to Grimshaw’s wounds. “That breeze is still strong enough to ruffle your mane. Can you tell me as soon as the wind shifts?”

She considered. “I suppose that I could…but given that we have a creature of the air with us, I would suggest that you defer to him instead.”

Caleb gritted his teeth at that. She’s right. Why didn’t I think of that?

“Shaw,” he said aloud, “Tavia’s got a point. Can you handle that duty?”

The griffin grimaced in pain as he sat up. One wing remained pressed to his side. But his noble eagle face bobbed as he nodded.

“Oh, aye,” he asserted. “Mine own feathers can even sense when the wind is just about to shift.”

“Good. We’re running directly before a southerly wind. Tell me when you sense you sense that shift to the west, the east, any which way,” Caleb instructed, before calling down to Donal on the quarterdeck. “Helm, get ready to make some turns, and I need them made smartly!”

“Yezzir, smartly they shall be made!” came the reply.

Sienna came pounding up to the quarterdeck steps, sweat shining on her face.

“Captain! I have a group on the forecastle jury-rigging a new jib sail. Do you have any other orders?”

“Get a team below,” he replied. “Have them check the hull where we took that hit.”

“Already on that. Anything else?”

Caleb was about to shake his head no when a thought came to him. He pulled up the screen where he could check the triple bars marking his physical well-being, stamina, and magical energy. The first was untouched. The second had slipped a tiny bit, perhaps a fourth below the peak.

But the yellow bar marking his magical energy level was down to the last quarter. To underline this fact, a new window popped up, overlying his screen in red.

WARNING: MAGICAL STAMINA LOW. YOUR ABILITY TO CAST SPELLS SHALL SOON BE IMPEDED OR CEASE ALTOGETHER!

He cursed under his breath.

Dammit, I shouldn’t have been so profligate with my spellcraft earlier. All my casting Dancing Lights did was distract Delacroix for a few seconds. If could’ve done that without spending magical energy…

“I do have one more order,” Caleb said to Sienna. “I want you and your rifle squad up here. Tell them they’re going to get to shoot at Lord High Captain Delacroix.”

She brightened at that. “I’ll have to beat them off with a stick! Bide a moment, and we’ll be up and at ‘em.”

Caleb pulled his spyglass out as she went to gather her men and firearms. He turned aft and set the glass to his eye as both ships emerged from the remnants of the fog bank and into bright sunshine. Now he could easily make out the Lord High Captain in his perch at the bow-most section of the foredeck. Teeth gleamed against the man’s beard as he grinned.

As Lir and Danu’s my witness, I want to wipe that smirk off this jerk’s face.

With an effort, Caleb lowered the glass slightly until he spied the Stone Angel’s ghastly looking figurehead. He shifted the view to one side, then the other, so he could look at the muzzles of the bow-chasers. He made out flickers of movement through the gun ports.

Caleb considered a moment.

Those would be from the gun crew. They’ll be busy cleaning and loading the cannon, getting ready for it to fire. And as soon as they’re ready, they’ll stand back so that no one loses a limb when it goes off…

The flickers of movement abruptly stopped.

“Helm!” he cried. “Four points to larboard, now!”

Donal spun the wheel. The deck lurched underfoot as the sloop leaned into a sharp turn.

A double boom! made Caleb’s ears throb. He caught a blur of motion as the cannonballs left the muzzles in a flash of gunpowder. The projectiles made a shriek as they flew past, missing to steerboard and plowing huge furrows in the ocean. Spray dotted his face, making him wipe his eyes and the spyglass lens clean.

“Good timing!” Tavia exclaimed, and Shaw made a low caw in agreement.

He nodded as the Spitfire moved ahead, leaving the Stone Angel falling slightly behind on the steerboard aft quarter. But his mind was already pondering what Delacroix’s Weathermancer might do next.

Whoever it is knows I can’t directly counter them, he thought. If I were in their shoes, I could shift the wind to blow from the southeast a little more, allowing the Stone Angel to run before the wind, make up some of the distance between the ships. Or…I could bring the wind in hard from due west. That would bring the Spitfire to a near-stop, while allowing my frigate to pivot and hit her with my larboard broadside.

“I sense a shift,” Shaw announced. “‘Tis about to gust with force from the west.”

Sure enough, he felt what the drake was talking about. A subtle, barely-there change in pressure against his skin, in his lungs. As if the weather itself was taking a deep inhale.

“Helm!” Caleb shouted, “Four points to steerboard, now!”

The Spitfire heeled over just as the gust hit, which made the deck boards creak as they shifted underfoot. The mainsail moved with a crack of canvas, and a hiss rose from ahead as the bow cut foam from the sea ahead.

The sloop skimmed across the Stone Angel’s path from the larboard bow quarter to the steerboard one before Delacroix’s crew had time to reload their cannon. Caleb glanced aft. Delacroix slammed a fist against the railing as his quarry skipped into and then back out of the field of fire covered by his chase guns.

“We’re running whitecaps at the bow!” Donal called, a smile on his face. “This wind came from nowhere!”

“‘Tis about to cease,” Shaw added.

“Two points larboard,” Caleb called, “Then steady as she goes!”

Once again, the helm answered smartly as the gust died, leaving the original stiff southerly breeze at their backs. The sound of feet on wooden steps echoed in his ears as Sienna, Ferris Pender, and the three Murray brothers arrived on the afterdeck. Each carried a freshly polished and loaded rifle and had a cartridge bag slung at their side.

“Captain, I know what you plan to say,” Ronan said quickly. “Aye, my arm’s a wee bit tricksy, but it’s all coins and cordwainers. I can still shoot!”

“All right, I won’t turn you down,” Caleb said, before addressing the others. “Mostly because none of you are going to be able to hit a damn thing. Not at this range, and not in this wind.”

“By Lir’s beard, don’t write us off too quick for all that!” Ferris Pender protested. “We’re plenty motivated to hit what you want us to shoot at.”

Caleb pointed towards the dark bow of the chasing frigate. “Shoot at Delacroix, his ship, those chase cannon, the whole nine yards. I just want their attention on you right now.”

“Aye, with pleasure!” Sienna said, as her squad fanned out across the taffrail. In no time, bangs! and clouds of acrid-smelling smoke filled the air as they took potshots at the Myrkur leader and his frigate.

Most of the rounds fell short or went wild at the long range. One threw off a spark as it glanced off the edge of a chase cannon’s muzzle. Another took a splinter out of the foredeck’s rail a couple yards away from Delacroix.

The man didn’t so much as flinch as he turned and shouted some orders. Immediately, several black-clad Guardsmen joined him at the rail. They unlimbered rifles of their own and began shooting back.

The Arrenmar openly laughed at their efforts. Since the Myrkur were firing into the wind, none of their shots were able to make the distance. Gunpowder smoke streamed back from the frigate’s bow, while tiny splashes in the water between the ships marked the end of each rifle round with a ploip!

“Second gust incoming,” Shaw announced, just as Caleb felt the uncertainly in the wind. “Harder than the first. ‘Tis from the north-east this time.”

So you’re trying to bring us to a dead halt again, Delcroix, Caleb thought. Nice try. But I can read your cards before you play them.

“Helm! Full hard to larboard, now!”

A groan rose from the Spitfire’s timbers as the ship did its best to make a sharp turn. Then another crack of canvas as the sail caught the hammer-blow of the gust. The following frigate slowed to a crawl as the sloop shot from right to left, back through its field of fire once more.

The Stone Angel’s chase guns boomed. This time, the pair of shots passed twenty yards wide of the sloop. Both cannonballs splashed harmlessly into the water. Through the spyglass, Delacroix shook his fist in impotent rage once more.

Then he set aside his glass and stretched his arms out towards the Spitfire. The Lord High Captain wove an intricate set of motions with his hands and fingers. The movement of his mouth meant that he had begun speaking an incantation.

Caleb’s stomach turned to ice as he lowered his spyglass. His thoughts flicked back to what he’d seen on the man’s character sheet back on Irongrasp.

Class: Eldritch Knight / Eldritch Magic Wielder

“This can’t be good,” he said aloud.

“What’s going on?” Sienna asked, as she paused in reloading her rifle.

“Delacroix’s readying a spell,” Caleb said. “I keep forgetting that the man’s not just a warrior, not just a sea captain. He can use magic as well, different than mine.”

Regan Murray rested his firearm on the taffrail and let out a curse.

“Lir and Danu preserve us,” he gasped. “Whatever Delacroix’s been boiling in his cauldron, he’s letting it loose now.”

Caleb didn’t need to put the spyglass back to his eye. Even at a distance, he saw a nebula of light blossom at the bow of the frigate. An ice-blue cloud with ethereal, octopus-like arms began to stretch across the water towards the Spitfire.