A titleless story I'm still working on

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Knock yourselves out, but don't be stingy on advice and comments.

Kealen stood by in front of the huge iron gates that stood impassively before him. Craning his head up, he quickly surveyed the walls and towers around the gate, finally resting upon the stone platform which carried the controls to the gate, and the key to West Belsharia. He dropped his head once again to the grass. A spear held ready at his hands. Quickly, he plunged the iron spear, head first into the dirt, around him stood many more spears in the same position, placed strategically around the gates.
He looked over to his left to see two catapults; slings drew back and fitted with large boulders. To his right, was again, another catapult, this one readied with a weak rock, doused in gasoline, aimed at the stone platform above the gates. Further behind him, the dirt path lead to a wide meadow, where the troops were already marshalling, each one garbed in the livery of House Cannaighen.
He strode confidently to the troops, his mithril helm glittering brightly in the sun, his purple cloak hiding his breastplate and sword. He gave a curt nod to the troops, and at once the started to move, stationing themselves upon the hillocks where the catapults stood, and the wide dirt path. The ranks quickly parted before Kealen, and quickly filling up behind him. He slowly drew his broadsword, and swung it down, smiling at low whistle as the keen blade cut through the air. And as one voice, the war cry pierced the air.
“Cannaighen!” The gates started to creek. Inch by inch the heavy iron gates opened, revealing another army, armed with long spears and glaives, as if expecting horsemen. Kealen smiled behind his helm, as he watched the opposing force move, row-by-row, starting as a jog, and breaking into a run. They never got near. Immediately, the ranks were repulsed by a wall. A wall of arrows. The sweet strumming of the hell harps echoed through the air. But the spearmen were able to recover quickly. They charged forth again, faster this time, fast enough to render the bows almost useless. Now the blood bath begins.
The army behind, and flanking Kealen all charged forward, like a huge wave, crashing into another, the two forces met. The commander swung his sword in huge arcs, pushing away enemy spears, and quickly running in to deliver some quick slashes at the unprepared enemy. He looked above the sea of bodies and blood, to see the gate quickly closing behind the enemy.
Once again, locking Kealen out. His broadsword flashed endlessly, striking down the unwary soldier. He was moving forward, towards the gates quickly, too quickly. Leaving the protection of his soldiers, Kealen soon found himself parrying more blows than delivering them. Pushed into the center of a circle of swordsmen, his blocks came at a faster rate. Pushing one blade to the side, and quickly rising to intercept another, then crossing in front of him to push another blade around. His entire body spun around in circles, his feet moving quickly to dodge blows, and his arms moving even faster to block those he cannot dodge. Suddenly stopping his defensive dance, he swung his sword in a wide arc, at neck level, at two unsuspecting soldiers, spraying him, and those around him in warm blood. Letting the momentum of the attack carry him, he was turned around to face the enemy behind him, his blade now out too wide, he shot in with his mailed fist. Slamming his fist into a near soldiers nose, quickly knocking him out, he quickly bent his legs and arced his back, thrusting his sword down into the face of the fallen soldier. He dropped to one knee, and unleashed another arc, swinging his arm in a semi circle, the deadly edge cutting through skin, muscle, and bone. Splitting many in two, and amputating the others.
He snapped his legs up, placing him once again, up right. He dared a glance back, and smiled, his soldiers were nearing towards their commander. He looked back towards the gate and raised his sword.
“Catapults!” he screamed. His cry was soon rewarded with three loud creaks, and crashes. Two boulders from his left flared into life, the runes cast upon them lighting up in a dull red. The two boulders slammed into the towers on the right, toppling the wall, and making a makeshift rubble bridge across the creek. The third catapult released the weakened rock onto the stone platform above the gates, shattering into small, dangerous pieces, immediately clearing the platform. He smiled behind his helm as he charged forward to the bridge. The enemy ranks parted before him, afraid of his wrath. However some were not fast enough, and were soon taken down.
He sprinted over the rubble bridge. And launched off at the end, bringing his sword down, cleaving a spearman’s skull open. With lightening speed, he struck out at the soldier to the right of him, and thrust his leg back into the stomach of the one to his left. Pushing the winded spearman over. He lifted his sword, and angled his sword down. He then thrust it down between the throat, and mail. The blade pierced through the leather hauberk and through his sternum, and into his lungs. The fallen soldier gasped and seemed to claw at the air as he slowly fell into death.
Kealen