An object soared overhead, describing a tight curve beneath the pallid clouds. It was disc-shaped, and it glinted in the rays of frail morning sunlight. Blades quietened, the fighters below watched as the saucer headed back their way. And they could see, as they scrambled for cover, that someone sat astride it.

The dish levelled sharply just above mast height, traversing the length of the ship. It moved at the speed of a javelin, bow to stern. As it passed over the stern, where the wheel stood on a raised deck, with the Captain’s cabin behind it, the disc-rider dropped something. There was another deafening report and an intense flash of light. Debris shot in all directions. When the dust cleared, the bridge was in ruins.

Banking hard and low, the saucer turned, preparatory to another attack. By now, some on board had collected themselves. They loosed arrows and lobbed spears. One or two arrows struck, but were deflected by the disc’s metallic hide. A ship’s wizard managed to get off an energy burst, an incandescent lance of malevolent particles that hurt the eyes. The beam clipped the saucer’s edge, gashing blue sparks, rocking it like a storm-tossed boat, but the rider quickly recovered and completed his turn.

At the galleon’s prow was a glamoured figurehead. Twice the height of a man, it comprised a voluptuous woman’s body melded with a hydra. Half a dozen writhing, spitting serpent’s heads projected from her sinuous neck.

On his next pass, the disc-rider targeted the effigy. Again, there was the glimpse of a dropped object; something that could have been a small hessian sack. The ensuing detonation left the figure a smoking charcoal stump. One dangling head remained, forked tongue wriggling weakly, the magic draining away.