The Blood Axe ships surged forward, great kettle drumbs booming the rythym as the stroke oars bit deep into the bay, hurling the ships forward with a violence that made their aged timbers groan and frothed the sea around their sharp prows. The defenders had, by now, gotten their oars unshipped, but they were pinned between the onrushing ships and their own harbor walls. With blood thirsty shouts and cracking timbers the Bloodaxes crashed into the defending galleys, abandoning their oars and swarming up over the bulwarks. Pistols and ancient firelock muskets cracked in the darkness, the puffs of light reminiscent of fire crackers at spring festival. 

The Weather Witch herself rushed past the western most breakwater with only a few dozen yards to spare. At the tip of the artificial harbor sailors in the chainmail veils of Dalib Sahara were trying to manhandle the ancient bombard around to bear on the attacking ship which was now less than a bow shot away. Sparks flew and men tumbled to the grounds as men in the fighting tops poured musket fire into the 

"Hand's aloft to reef sail!" Markus shouted as they cleared the breakwater and Sketti threw the helm over slewing the sloops headlong rush into a long beam reach which canted the deck sharply. Fire blossomed on the far side of the harbor as the guns there opened fire. A section of the front bulwark of the forecastle exploded with a ruckus swquark of protesting timbers. Men fell screaming hewn down but splinters of wood. A second shot struck just to the right of the bow sprit, raising a vast gyeser of water which pattered over them. Several other shore based guns spat flame into the night but Calliopie saw no evidence that their shot passed anywhere near them. Above them the crew were hastily looping the sail in quick inelegant reefs so they no longer caught the slackening land-breeze that flowed of the hot continent to the sea. Men cheered as one of the guardships flag came down and the Blood Axe red banner was run up. The cheer was short lived as the deck of the vessel seemed to burst apart in a great dirty spurt of fire reaching for the heavens. The concussion shattered the hull like an egg and the Blood Axe vessel was tossed aside like a toy, broken open amidships and swamping in seconds. The concussion hit them like a physical slap knocking several sailors from the rigging as they scrambled down to the decks. It must have broken every window hundreds of yards.

"Umberlee's tits!" Calliope cursed in shock, "Did they fire her magazine?" It seemed staggeringly unlikely that anyone posted to a guardship wanted to give up his life for the Emir. Markus spat and shook his head in disgust.

"One of the shore batteries hit their own ship, must have gotten lucky and set of her powder magazine, probably didn't have it stored properly," he growled. Another salvo of cannonfire tore from the shore batteries, only seconds apart, though that was luck rather than coordination. A whole appeared in their spanker which began to snap and his as it spilled air.

"Stand to your guns!" Markus shouted and the crew began casting off their lines and running out the guns they had loaded before the attack began. They crew hauled on the tackles and the gun captains crouched over their firing holes, firing lanyards in hand. Calliopie tried a spell but instantly felt counterspells forming from a dozen different sources. It was probably civilian wizards rather than the Emir's men, but enough diffuse attacks from enough different sources could defeat even the mightiest mage, and she had already almost exhausted herself.

"Sketti, put her a point a'larbord," Markus commanded and the Witch yawed and steadied, presenting her broadside to the batteries on the far side of the harbor.

"Fire as you bear!" Markus shouted with a flourish of his sword. The guns began to boom, first one, then a rolling salvo as all twelve starboard guns thudded back on their carriages. Powder smoke rose in a thick sheet but with her mage vision Calliope saw one of the gun emplacements disintegrate, a ball striking the barrel and smashing it from its carriage with a clang like a colossal bell. Near misses hammered the stone embrasure and the crew fell screaming as shards of stone eviscerated them. Calliope whooped in feral excitement her eyes gleaming at the roar of the cannons and the destruction they had wrought. 

"Hard a'port!" Markus commanded and Sketti obediently put the helm over with a swing that left the wheel spinning free of his hands. By now the Witch had crossed nearly a third of the harbor on the momentum of her initial rush, bleeding speed rapidly from the maneuvers Markus was putting her through the only sails still driving her was and the shot torn spanker, that was flogging itself to pieces and she now moved no faster than a man might run. The ship heeled about, presenting her starboard, and as yet unfired, battery to the surviving shore artillery. Men leaped across the deck to their opposite guns, in most cases leaving their guns unsecured. That would have been dangerous at sea where a rolling swell might send several hundred pounds of iron rolling across the deck to maim crew and spring masks, but the bay was mill pond flat save for the ripples of gunfire, and besides this wasn't a day to even think about safety. 

"Fire!" Markus roared and Calliope threw back hear head and crowed with laughter as the guns hammered out their message of death and destruction. By now the crews of the remaining two batteries, having witnessed the destruction of their fellows had fled, but the guns remained a threat and thus had to be destroyed. The salvo was less precise this time. One cannon fired early and the ball ricoched of the water like a skipped stone, arching high over the low buildings of the harbor front. Only one of the remaining batteries was destroyed, as a ball struck the hub of the carriage wheel, sending spokes flying in all directions, but the threat was ended at least for now.

"Hands to midships!" Calliope yelled as the Witch coasted towards one of the piers on what little remained of her momentum. 

"Stand by to cast lines!" but she needn't have bothered, men were already leaping the six feet between the dock and the pier, their mates tossing them lines that were quickly snugged around the pilings. The Witch came to rest with a jerk as she snubbed up against the ropes and there was a moment of odd quiet before screaming pirates leaped from the ship onto the pier, swords and pistols waving.