Vlastimir stumbles backward into the man behind him in horror as three of the five alongside him are felled in a volley. Another volley falls, but the rebel raises his kite shield to block the attack.
Arrows dig into his shield as he pushes forward. All around him, men are struck down in droves, their bodies rolling into the rushing waters of the Atiming. Vlastimir continues to push forward, shoulder to shoulder with his comrades.
Dozens continue to fall from the narrow bridge, either pushed over from overcrowding or knocked down by the loyalist arrows. But Vlastimir isn't of the unfortunate ones, struck down to drown and bleed in the river.
As his feet touch dry land, he says a silent prayer of thanks. He then raises his shield to lock against those of the men around him. He has been ordered not to charge, but to wait for his fellow troops to form into a line.
He holds for another minute under barrage by arrows. He can see disjointed lines of loyalist archers in various states of withdrawal, shooting individual arrows before continuing to fall back.
After another minute, a sufficient line of a few hundred men form the first rank of the rebel footmen. A trumpet sounds from further behind this new line, signaling the renewed advance.
They're now on the loyalist's bank of the river and advancing at a rapid pace.
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