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Game of Thrones: The Giant Crab of the Narrow Sea
Game of Thrones: The Sword King
Game of Thrones: From Bastard to Emperor
"So, Tiberius, when exactly are you planning to start real training with these guys?"
Vito leaned against the doorframe, a fresh grass stem between his teeth, watching the soldiers on the field who could now execute basic formation changes without looking like drunk ducks. His tone had turned serious.
"You know what I mean. Not this parade-ground bullshit—marching, standing at attention. I'm talking real soldier training. How to snap from marching column into battle line in seconds. How to coordinate with crossbowmen. How to deal with the little rats who crawl under the spear wall with knives."
"They also need to know how to form square against heavy cavalry charges—those iron cans on horseback that shake the ground like an earthquake. And war chariots—Volantis loves those damn things. They come thundering in and flatten anything that isn't locked tight."
"Oh, and war elephants," Vito added with a dark chuckle, seeing Tiberius's face pale. "Volantis's elephant trainers are vicious bastards. They train the beasts not to fear spears or noise. The elephants wear scale and mail, and there's a fighting tower on their backs packed with archers and javelin throwers. Moving fortresses, basically. Of course—" he softened his grin—"you won't be frontally charging those with this little force. Even Old Tom's hard bastards who sleep on corpses and drink from enemy skulls would call fighting elephants nine-lives-or-die. But you still need to teach your men how to avoid them, how to counter them. Otherwise, when they show up, your boys will die twice as fast."
He kept listing: "Then there are the Volantene 'rats'—light infantry who crawl under the spear hedge and slice ankles. You have to drill counter-measures until it's instinct. And most important of all—get them used to blood. Real blood. They need to smell it, step in it, watch guts spill and bones snap without their legs turning to jelly. You need killers who can march over their own comrades' intestines and keep going."
"And the crossbowmen." Vito perked up—this was his domain. "How many loaders per shooter? How do the infantry screen them when advancing or retreating? When exactly do they loose? Crossbowmen and archers don't just spray arrows the second they see the enemy. They wait for effective range, shoot on command, in volleys that sweep whole sections clean. A proper arrow storm should look like a giant broom brushing the field. That takes practice—lots of it, until they puke."
"Wait for Old Tom," Tiberius said, looking up. "Uncle Jules sent word—he's pulling back from the front. After a few skirmishes the Volantene light cavalry and scouts have gone quiet."
"I figure they underestimated the Three Daughters' strength and determination. After tasting real blood, they know small raids won't work. They'll need a proper pitched battle to break us."
"Besides, I don't actually know how to train spearmen and crossbowmen properly. I can handle discipline and formations—barely—but real tactics and live drills?" Tiberius shook his head. "I'm out of my depth. That needs professionals."
"Fair enough. Then we wait for Old Tom." Vito spat out the grass stem, eyes gleaming with battle lust. "Can't wait to show these rookies what real hell looks like. Hope that old gambler doesn't lose the whole payroll on the way back."
"Still, I do have some ideas for the crossbowmen…" Tiberius said slowly, pulling out a sheet of parchment.
"Vito, take a look at this… Pavise crossbowmen. What do you think?"
The sketch was crude but clear: a crossbowman crouching behind a massive shield nearly one-and-a-half men tall, with a groove cut down the center for the bolt.
"A big shield on crossbowmen? What kind of new madness is this?" Vito frowned.
"Simple." Tiberius picked up a little wooden soldier and a small shield to demonstrate.
"Vito, what scares crossbowmen the most?"
"Cavalry charges," Vito answered instantly. "Two legs never outrun four—especially when you're holding a slow-reloading crossbow and no long spears."
"And second?"
"Enemy arrows…" Vito's eyes widened as he caught on.
"Kid, you're saying you want crossbowmen to carry these door-sized shields and shoot from behind them?"
"Exactly!" Tiberius snapped his fingers. "I want my men safe behind cover while they reload and shoot. No more dropping dead to random shafts."
"Training crossbowmen is already harder than spearmen. Every dead one costs me money and time—I hate losing them."
"But kid, have you thought this through?" Vito tapped the sketch. "You want them lugging shields the size of barn doors? Plus their crossbows, bolts, windlasses, short swords, and all the rest? You'll kill them with weight before the enemy even shows up."
"Don't worry, Vito." Tiberius grinned. "I already solved that."
He pointed to the detailed notes beside the shield. On the other side stood an armored soldier holding a shovel.
"I know one man can't carry both a huge shield and a crossbow into battle. So I designed a 'mule' for them."
"What the hell does that mean?"
"A dedicated shield-bearer. His only job is to carry the big pavise. He'll be armed with a long spear, short axe, falchion, maybe javelins. He holds the shield steady while the crossbowman reloads and shoots from safety."
"And Vito—" Tiberius's grin turned wicked—"you just said crossbowmen fear cavalry, right? Now, unless it's Volantis super-heavy cataphracts with three layers of armor on man and horse, or those shiny Westerosi knights in full plate, regular cavalry won't break my shield wall."
"Plus—" Tiberius pulled several tools from a chest: shovels, pickaxes, hand axes.
"These are going on every man. Before battle they dig trenches, plant spare spears and sharpened stakes in front of the line, and my spearmen guard the flanks. Let's see which idiot cavalry dares charge my crossbow company head-on."
"Huh. Not a bad idea at all." Vito nodded repeatedly. "I'll take this back to my old crossbow sergeants and test it. Pavise bearers don't need fancy shooting skills—just strength, obedience, and balls. If we're short, I can pull some spearmen or Old Tom's boys to fill the role."
"Best part? With a big shield in front, even rookies won't piss themselves at the first sight of charging knights or arrow storms. This will cut training time and casualties in half."
"Alright, Vito. Test it thoroughly—run multiple mock battles. I want to see the strengths and weaknesses in every situation. We need real data."
"Got it. Kid, if you've got any more crazy ideas, spit them out now!" Vito laughed, eyes bright.
He genuinely wanted to know what kind of mad genius lived inside Tiberius's skull.