"Next time, you won't be so lucky," Geoffrey muttered. "We'll see your hide flapping in the rain, if you're ever foolish enough to raid our lands again." The Barbarian slapped his thigh. "By God," he chuckled, "I knew it wasn't some ordinary veal-fed princeling that outmaneuvered _me_!" He shook his head. "That other pup had better watch out for you, if you ever cross his path again. I lost him in the rocks with ease to spare. Bad luck your shot smashed my fuel tanks, or I'd be halfway home by now." The rolling voice grew low and bitter. "No sense waiting to pick up my men. Not enough of 'em left to make a corporal's guard." "What do you mean, _if_ I ever cross Dugald's path again? I'll have him called out to trial by combat the day I can ride a tankette once more." "I wouldn't be too sure, lad," The Barbarian said gently. "What does that look like, over there?" Geoffrey turned his head to follow the shadowy pointing arm, and saw a flicker of light in the distance. He recognized it for what it was; a huge campfire, with the Leaguesmen's tankettes drawn up around it. "They're dividing the spoils--what prisoners there are, to work the mills; whatever of your equipment is still usable; your baggage train. And so forth. What of it?" "Ah, yes, my baggage train," The Barbarian muttered. "Well, we'll come back to that. What else do you suppose they're dividing?" Geoffrey frowned. "Why--nothing else. Wait!" He sat up sharply, ignoring his ribs. "The fiefs of the dead nobles." "Exactly. Your ramshackle little League held together long enough to whip us for the first time, but now the princelings are dividing up and returning to their separate holdings. Once there, they'll go back to peering covetously at each other's lands, and maybe raid amongst themselves a little, until I come back again. And you're as poor as a church mouse at this moment, lad--no fief, no lands, no title--unless there's an heir?" Geoffrey shook his head distractedly. "No. I've not wed. It's as you say." "And just try to get your property back. No--no, it won't be so easy to return. Unless you'd care to be a serf on your own former holding?" "Dugald would have me killed," Geoffrey said bitterly. "So there you are, lad. The only advantage you have is that Dugald thinks you're dead already--you can be sure of that, or it would have been an assassin, and not me, that woke you. That's something, at least. It's a beginning, but you'll have to lay your plans carefully, and take your time. I certainly wouldn't plan on doing anything until your body's healed and your brain's had time to work."