Dorbei's fire archers released at eighty meters.
The arrows traveled down the line in a staggered wave. Arrows climbed, then dropped steeply into the Rus position along the river's bank.
The far bank answered at once.
A crossbow bolt crossed eighty meters on a flat line and struck a rider two places left of Batu. It punched through the padded coat and the leather underneath, the impact shoving the man backward in the saddle. He made no sound. Momentum carried him forward over his horse's neck. He slid sideways, fell into the grass along the bank, and lay still.
The bolt protruded from his back where it had exited. His horse took a single step and stopped.
"They've got the range already."
A second bolt crossed the river. It entered a rider's left thigh at the fire line, tore through muscle, and stopped on bone. The man seized the wound, dragged his horse backward, and kept the shaft in place. A rider from the rear rank filled the space immediately.
