The Weather Witch fell off to port as Markus put the helm over. The stiffening wind drove the hull deeper into the water as she took more of the wind on her quaters. They had been running southerly on a long board and would have been due tack soon in any case. Calliope’s eyes shimmered with her mage sight, and she was just able to pick out the slight glow of the enemy mage on the onrushing ship. Now that the Witch was on a perpendicular rather than a nearly parallel course the ranged closed quickly and soon the two onrushing vessels were visible to the naked eye. 

They were a pair of great oared galleys, their hulls made of teak or some other dark wood. Long lateen sails drove them swiftly through the water but their speed was supplemented by two banks of stout oaken sweeps which shoved the vessels across the water like pond bettles. Galleys had gone out of style both on the continent and in the free cities, they required large crews of slaves or paid oarsmen and the space that such a crew required limited the space for cargo or artillery considerably.

Of course they were ideal ships for piracy especially close to the coast where sea room was scarce and a ship could be pinned against a lee shore with little chance to maneuver. Sketti was heaving on his balista, swinging the platform to bear on the approaching vessel though the range was surely yet to great. Grimey ran from gun to gun, pulling free the wooden tompkins and shouting at men to run them out, a task which took two or three men. To properly serve a gun required four men though Calliope had some notions for how she might enchant the pulleys to make the task more managabel for the short crew.

“Sail ho!” came the cry from the crows nest, “three points a’larboard about the beam!” Calliope turned to look in the direction everyone else did though, without the advantage of the mast altitude she saw only darkened sea.

“Two sails! Same heading.” Four enemy ships, it had to be a coordinated ambush of some sort. If Markus was disturbed by this he gave no sign.

“Stand by to come about, hands aloft to set royals!”

“Two more sails! Two points a’larbord!” The crew paused in fear hanging half way up the ratlines.

“Shut your yap be there a whole cursed fleet and set the royals you curs or ill lighten the ship of your bodies!” Markus roared and he put the helm hard over, slewing the Witch so she was on a direct reciprocal with the two approaching ships. The ships were less than a mile away now. Calliope could clearly see the gilt work about their bow, intricate script picked out in flaking gold paint. The boom, boom, boom of drums could be heard as the rowers kept the stroke. The unison in which they pulled their oars was enough indication that they were trained oarsmen rather than slaves, a bad sign. Sketti almost jumping up and down gesticulated at Markus. Above them the snap of canvas was almost deafening as the royals billowed out and snatched at the wind, adding to the Weather Witches considerable speed.

“Fire as you bear Sketti!” Markus roared and the dwarf yanked at a lever. There was a viceral thunk as the projectile leaped into the air. The dwarf cursed as the missle whistled over the deck of the nearer of the two galley, decaptaing several of the motley crew that thronged her deck, waving spears and scimitars and the occasional long jezzail. The dwarf grabbed another bolt and began cranking the great windlass that drew the weapon back into place.

“Stand to the guns!” Grimey yelled and men were already scurrying out of the rigging running to pick up pot fires and sponges to work the new found artillery. Calliope wished they had enjoyed the time and powder to practice, but both had been in short supply. At their present bearing they couldn’t fire on the ships ahead of them, but in short order they would be alongside, yardarm to yardarm.

“We can’t take on six ships,” Calliope said quietly, her understanding of naval warfare was strategic rather than tactical but that would have been obvious to a child. What she was really saying was ‘do you have a plan’ without doing so directly.

A ball of flame leaped from the trailing vessel. Calliope raised her hands and shouted a word of power. The fireball smashed into an invisible shield fifty feet from the Witch. She raised her own hand and began to chant, beginning the delicate dance of both protecting the Witch and attacking the enemy vessels with magics of her own.