The Witch heeled to the wind as it rushed past the shattered corsair. Broken bodies lay in piles on the deck as the ship fell off the wind and wallowed. Screams and moan rose from the ship as they drew passed and Calliope could see men quilled with splinters as long as her arm as they thrashed in their death struggles. Another bolt of lighting leaped from the pursing ship and Calliope snapped a counter spell, detonating the blast well short of its mark. The galleries behind them were gaining despite the greater spread of canvas the Weather Witch could boast. Their lateen yards were not the best choice, but the rowers more than made up the difference. While the crewmen would eventually tire that would be well after they had closed with their prey. Puffs of smoke erupted from the bows of the fleeing vessels and a monet later great jets of spray rose up just behind the fleeing pirate vessel as heavy shot splashed down about them. Calliope hurled bolts of black fire back at their pursuers, but the mage following them was more experience than she and manage to blot out her efforts in a fizzle of arcane power. She lashed out again fueling the spell with her hate and frustration but they merely evaporated as her opponent countered her with her own arts. The medallion at her breast pulsed and throbbed filling her with the desire to rend and tear and burn but offering her now practical method to achieve such viceral satisfaction. Instead she began to recite a spell from the codex, the alien words spilling from her lips in a liquid flow that was unnerving to see. Above them clouds began to thicken and darken like congealing blood. Calliope’s vision dimmed and again she found herself in the strange grey interstices she always glimpsed when she used the strange and alien magics in the books cursed pages. This time though something was different. The menacing presence was still there, just out of sight behind the walls of fog, but there was something else, dark and serpentine that wove its way through the darkness. [i] Bold, little wyrm, [/i] a voice sounded in her head. [i] The magic of the black heavens is a dangerous toy… [/i] Calliope tried to keep her concentration on the spell she was incanting in the real world but her mind seemed to be composed of thick panes of glass and the arcane formula slipped and slid. Somehow she knew she was second from disaster and she worked desperately to keep her concentration. Back in the real world streams of blood were rising from the shattered galley, flying up into the gathering maelstrom in a perverse negation of natural rain. Where Calliope stood on the deck a circle of black shadow flowed, encircling the mage like a ward circle. Another thunderbolt struck the tafrail, showering splinters that burst into smoke as they touched the edge of the circle and pepering Markus with flaming debris. [i] Let me show you, before the monarch of this place takes you [/i] Something dark and winged flashed out of the clouds like a inverse lightning. Calliope saw the deck and the enemy mage rushing up at her, a feeling of wild exultation in her heart. A half mile away she could see herself standing on the poop of the Weather Witch, chanting while her eyes stared sightlessly. She could see each of the crew members with far greater clarity than she could have with her own eyes. She could feel the heat of their bodies, smell the stink of their sweat, but all was meaningless compared to the mad thrill of the dive. Her wings spread at the last moment and her talons tore at the screaming mage. The man held up his hands as though to ward her off, his white robes flapping in the tumult of her decent. Claws of shadow tore into him and he screamed in agony before staggering back, dead without a mark on his body. Calliope rushed back up into the clouds and suddenly she was standing on the deck of the Witch again, the last syllables of the spell rolling off her tongue. “What in the seven hells!” Markus demanded. In her memory Calliope could see the black winged shadow fall like a lance from the sky striking the enemy mage dead. To others it had appeared that way, but she had been the thing which swept down upon the luckless mage. The clouds roiled and swirled above her and the last syllable of the spell tumbled from her lips. The clouds fell. In an instant the sea was carpeted with fog so thick that she couldn’t see Markus five feet away. The crew yelled in panic. “Quiet!” Markus roared and the ship fell silent save for the snap of the rigging and the slap of waves against the hull. Behind them came hollow booms of cannon. A geyser of water shot up behind them, close enough that it showered Calliope and Markus with its plume. Another spout rose ahead of the ship and with a shriek of splintering timbers one of the balls crashed down on the deck, tossing one of the unmanned cannons back into the waist. Markus put the wheel over several points, veering the Witch off the last course the enemy had been able to see. Behind them Calliope could hear the hammer of the drums urging the rowers forward. They were still badly outnumbered, but perhaps they could lose the enemy in the magical fog. Calliope’s lungs burned and she felt her knees wobble from the effort of the spell, catching onto the railing so that she didn’t fall. The amulet at her breast burned like fire against her skin, but it wasn’t the unpleasant sensation it should have been. No one in the crew could see her through the fog, but she forced herself to remain standing, striving to appear calm and in control