"Advance! Double pace!"
Ullsaard waved his company on with his spear and broke into a trot, shoulder-to-shoulder with the men on each side, those coming behind almost on his heels. Leather slapped, bronze jingled and men panted in the hot sun. The volume of arrows descending on the first company increased, but at the cost of accuracy. Covering the ground with swift strides, the Askhans were at the gate without suffering any more casualties.
Through the gaps between the logs, Ullsaard could see the press of Salphorian archers. He rammed the point of his spear through one of the holes, heard a scream, and wrenched the spear back. The tip was slick with blood.
While the second rank jabbed their long pikes through the gaps, the front rank stabbed their spears into the ground and pulled out knives to saw at the binding ropes. Ullsaard slid his sword between two timbers and sliced quickly, parting the fibres of a tar-covered rope. Arrows thudded against the gate from inside the village, and now and then the king felt a shaft hitting his sword. With a final snap, the rope split.
"Brace for push!" shouted the king, taking up his spear again.
All the men of the front rank turned sideways and leaned their shoulders against the inside of their shields. Ullsaard felt the weight of the man behind him pushing against his back, the pressure growing steadily as more and more ranks added to their weight.
"Forwards!"
Having shouted the command, the king planted his feet and heaved. Teeth gritted, he took a step, feeling the gate buckling slightly. He reset himself and pushed again, aware of the fifteen men behind him all lending their weight. Ropes creaked and wood bent under the strain. Ullsaard found it hard to breathe in the tight press, nostrils flaring as he sought to fill his lungs for another surge.
A loud crack sounded to the left and the momentum of the phalanx shifted, the sudden lack of resistance dragging the men in that direction. Ullsaard almost stumbled, but was kept upright by the proximity of the men to either side.
Though the gate sagged, it did not break. Another glance confirmed to Ullsaard that a heavy timber had been dropped as a bar across the inside. More crashing and victorious shouts to his right announced the collapse of the first part of the wall.
"Use your spears, lever up that bar," he told his men, manoeuvring his own weapon into position. A dozen spears thrust through the gaps in the gate at Ullsaard's shout. At the next command Ullsaard and his men heaved upwards, using the shafts to raise the bar. It moved about the width of a hand and then stuck solid against the brackets holding it in place.
Though curses filled his thoughts at this obstacle, Ullsaard kept his swearing inside his head; it was not wise to show frustration in front of his men. He cursed himself most vehemently for his impatience. They could have waited and brought up ladders from the baggage train; he might have ordered a bombardment by the spear throwers and catapults. There had been a number of options, not least of which had been to use the lava-throwers to burn out the Salphors, but his hunger for immediate action had driven him to a direct assault. Now it looked like he'd be stuck at this damned gate until one of the other companies saw fit to let him in; a humiliation whatever way you looked at it.
"Perhaps we should have knocked?" he called out to his men, who laughed dutifully. He could hear shouts and sounds of fighting inside the village and knew he was missing the battle. "The lads in the other companies are taking all the loot. One more shove!"
Whether it was for their commander or fear of losing out on the spoils, the first company redoubled their efforts, lunging en masse at the gate. One hundred and sixty men threw their weight against the offending obstacle with a throaty roar.
"Come on!" Ullsaard could barely take a breath to call out.
It was a hinge that gave first, to Ullsaard's right. The bottom of the gate swung away, causing the Askhans to stagger for a moment. Seeing their efforts rewarded, they piled on, straining every muscle.
With a last screech of twisting metal, the gate collapsed inwards, falling to pieces as it crashed down onto the packed dirt. Some of the men lost their balance, tripping over and stumbling amongst the splintered logs. Ullsaard brought up his spear, ready to fight, wary of instant counter-attack.
He did not have anything to fear. The Salphors were battling ferociously in the middle of their village, forming a circle against three other companies that had broken through the wall. Here and there pockets of warriors fought against a handful of legionnaires, while some fought face to face with lone opponents. This was not a grand battle of sweep and manoeuvre; it was a simple fight to the death.
"Break ranks and charge!" bellowed Ullsaard, leaping over the remnants of the gate.
Dashing along the dirt street, Ullsaard saw a legionnaire of the fifth company backed up against the wall of a hut, fending away two Salphors with spear and shield. The king met them at a sprint, driving his spear into the back of the closest.
The other Salphor turned quickly, braided beard whipping through the air. Ullsaard's shield caught the man's axe as the king pulled his spear out of the dead man. He jabbed towards the Salphor's face, forcing him back a step, only to be met by the point of the legionnaire's weapon in the side. Twisting awkwardly, the Salphor staggered away from the legionnaire, blood spilling from the wound. Ullsaard followed up, ramming his shield into that of his foe, knocking him to one knee. He kicked the man in the face, booted foot connecting squarely with his chin. A heartbeat later, Ullsaard rammed his spear through the man's leather jerkin, plunging the tip into his ribcage.
"Come with me," he told the legionnaire, heading further up the street to open space between the ring of buildings. More of the first company were streaming towards the battle to his left and right.
Unable to form the phalanx through the breaks in the wall and the narrow spaces between the huts, the Askhans could not bring their numbers to bear for a decisive onslaught. All across the village, a swirling melee was being fought; in some places it had devolved into a running fight with groups of Salphors chasing down legionnaires cut off from their companies and Askhans encircling isolated groups of defenders.
With a handful of other Askhans by his side, Ullsaard plunged into the fray. He bashed Salphors to the ground with his shield, stabbing at faces and guts with his spear, trampling and stumbling over the fallen. An axe caught the king a glancing blow on the right shoulder, opening up a long gash across his arm. Snarling with pain, he smashed his shield into the axe-wielding man, stunning him long enough for another legionnaire to drive his spear through the Salphor's groin.
His grip on his spear slick with blood, Ullsaard flexed his arm, hissing as the laceration parted with the movement. Though the wound was sore, it did not inhibit his movement. Still feeling confident, Ullsaard pitched into the fight, kicking away the shield of his next foe to expose the Salphor's chest to another spear thrust.
Splinters of wood from a snapping spear haft exploded into the king's face, blinding him for a moment. He ducked behind his shield out of instinct as tears, blood and sweat streamed into his beard. Something heavy hit the shield boss, jarring the king's arm. Blinking furiously, he stopped a sword blade with his spear's shaft, and whipped the tip into the man's face, cutting across cheek and lips.
The Salphor howled and swung his sword at Ullsaard's head. The king shuffled back a step and knocked the blow aside with the rim of his shield. Unbalanced, the Salphor stumbled face first into the blood-spattered earth. Ullsaard slammed a foot down onto the man's helmeted head and reversed his grip on his spear, driving the tip between the downed Salphor's shoulder blades, feeling it glancing from the man's spine.