seen Ypsilantes was a man who delivered on his promises. Nonetheless, he persisted: «Tell me one way in which you might accomplish that.»
«Here's one—first one that pops into my head,» Ypsilantes said. «Suppose you want to cross somewhere near the place where a good-sized canal flows off to the northeast from the Tib—flows off behind where we already are, in other words. If we divert water from the river to the canal, what's left of the river will be easy enough to manage. Like I say, you leave all that sort of thing to me, your Majesty.»
Maniakes remembered his thoughts back in Videssos the city on how best to run affairs. Here was a man who plainly knew how to do what needed doing. «When the time comes, Ypsilantes, I will,» the Avtokrator said.
The engineer saluted, clenched right fist over his heart, then hurried off to ready what might need readying. Some officers of his ability would have had their eye on the throne. All he wanted was the chance to play with his toys. Maniakes was more than willing to give him that, and so could give him free rein as well. He wondered if Sharbaraz would have been so trusting, and had his doubts.
When the army was only a couple of days' ride from the Tib, a scout came galloping back to Maniakes. «Your Majesty,» he called, «the King of Kings has sent you an ambassador. He's on his way here now.»
«Has he?» Maniakes said, and then, a moment later, «Is he?» The scout looked confused. Maniakes knew it was his own fault. He went on, «Sharbaraz has never done that before. How can he send me an ambassador when he doesn't recognize me as rightful Avtokrator of the Videssians?»
«I don't know, your Majesty,» the scout said, which had the virtue of being an altogether honest answer.
«Go back and tell this ambassador I'll listen to him,» Maniakes said without any great warmth. The scout hurried off as fast as he had come. Maniakes watched his back. The most likely reason he could find for Sharbaraz to send him an envoy was to try to delay him so the Makuraners on the west bank of the Tib could shore up their defenses. But he couldn't refuse to see the fellow, because the likely reason might not be the true one.
The ambassador reached him less than half an hour later. The fellow rode a fine gray mare and wore a striped caftan shot through with silver threads. He was about fifty, with a full gray beard and the long face, swarthy skin, and deep-set eyes that marked the Makuraners. Bowing in the saddle, he asked in fair Videssian, «You are Maniakes son of Maniakes?»
«Yes,» Maniakes answered. «And you?»
«I am Rafsanj son of Shidjam,» the ambassador said, «and I bring you greetings from Sharbaraz son of Peroz, King of Kings, may his years be many and his realm increase, mighty, powerful, awesome to behold, a man whom the God delights to honor—»
Maniakes held up a hand. Sharbaraz bore more titles and attributes than a stray dog had ticks; Maniakes wasn't interested in having them all trotted out. «Sharbaraz hasn't been interested in treating with me before,» he remarked. «After all, he recognizes the fraud he calls Hosios son of Likinios as Avtokrator of the Videssians, not me. What has made him change his mind?» He thought he knew the answer to that: an invasion that looked like succeeding was a good way to get anyone's attention.
Rafsanj coughed delicately. «I was not bidden to treat with Avtokrator of the Videssians, but with Maniakes son of Maniakes, commander of the forces currently disturbing the realm of Makuran, who, I presume, is yourself.»
«I told you yes already,» Maniakes said, and then, to himself, «Presumption.» Sharbaraz had a good deal of gall if he thought he could keep his own puppet Avtokrator around and treat with Maniakes at the same time. But then, any man who made a shrine where he was worshiped as a god had gall and to spare.
That he was willing to talk to Maniakes at all was a step forward. And maybe, having created the false Hosios, Sharbaraz felt he could not abandon him without losing face among his own courtiers. Rafsanj asked, «Will you hear what I have to say, Maniakes son of Maniakes?»
«Why should I?» Maniakes asked. «Why shouldn't I find some mean prison and throw you into it, the way Sharbaraz did to the eminent Triphylles, the envoy I sent to him asking for peace?»
«Because—» Rafsanj hesitated. Because he was winning then and he's not so sure now, was what went through Maniakes' mind. He never thought I'd have the chance to collect the debt he owes me. But that would have been Sharbaraz's thinking, not what was going through the mind of this Rafsanj now. The ambassador said, «Because if you imprison me, you will not hear what the King of Kings offers.»
«That's not necessarily so,» Maniakes answered, smiling. «I could hear the offer and then jail you, as Sharbaraz did with Triphylles.»
«You are pleased to jest, Maniakes son of Maniakes,» Rafsanj said. He made a good envoy; if he was nervous, he didn't let on. But he did not, would not, call Maniakes your Majesty.
«Let's find out if I am joking, shall we?» the Avtokrator said. «Give me Sharbaraz's terms and then we'll see how long you stay free. How does that sound to you?»
«Not good,» Rafsanj answered, no doubt truthfully. «Sharbaraz King of Kings, may his years be many and his realm increase, bids you give over the devastation you are working in the Land of the Thousand Cities.»
Maniakes displayed his teeth in what was not really a smile. «I'm sure he does. I wanted him to stop devastating the westlands. I was even willing to pay him to stop devastating the westlands. Did he listen to me?» That question answered itself, and suggested the next one: «Why should I listen to him?»
«He bids you bide here, that we may discuss the composition of differences between Videssos and Makuran,» Rafsanj said.
«And he will, of course, hold all his armies in place while I'm doing that,» Maniakes said.
«Of course,» Rafsanj answered. Maniakes watched him narrowly. He was good, but not quite good enough. He went on in fulsome tones: «And once agreement has been reached, will there not be rejoicing on both sides of the border? Will voices not be raised in joy and gladness?»
«The border? Which border? The one before Sharbaraz began his war against us?» Maniakes asked. Rafsanj did not answer that question; maybe Sharbaraz had not given him an answer for it. «I don't think I'm ready to talk peace quite yet, thanks,» the Avtokrator said. Strange how things had changed—a few years before, he would have fallen on such an offer with a glad cry. But not now. «I don't want to talk here, either. Tell Sharbaraz that if he still wants to discuss these things with me when I get to Mashiz, we may be able to do it there.»
«Beware lest your arrogance bring you down,» Rafsanj said. «Overweening pride has laid many a man low.»
«I'm not the one who built a statue of the God in my own image,» Maniakes retorted, raising a scowl from Sharbaraz's envoy. «I'm not the one who plans to move armies around after pledging I wouldn't, either. When is the King of Kings going to pull Abivard and his horsemen out of the sleeve of his caftan and hurl them at me? They must be around here somewhere.» He still had trouble giving credence to Bagdasares' magic.
And his probe struck a nerve, too; Rafsanj jerked, as if Maniakes had jabbed a pin into his legs. But the envoy answered, «I have no obligation to speak to you of the manner in which your doom will fall and all your hopes be swallowed by the Void.»
«And I have no obligation to stay here while Sharbaraz moves his pieces around the board,» Maniakes returned. «I have no obligation to let myself be cozened, either. Tell Sharbaraz I'll see him in Mashiz.»
«That shall never be,» Rafsanj told him.
«I know better,» Maniakes jeered. «Videssos has taken Mashiz before; we can do that. What will never happen is Makuran taking Videssos the city.»
Again, Rafsanj started. This time, he mastered himself without saying anything. He sawed at the reins, roughly pulling his horse's head around. He rode away from Maniakes faster than he had approached him.
Maniakes watched him go. He waved to his own men, calling, «Onward!» Onward they went, toward the Tib. They did not go so fast as Maniakes would have liked. The Makuraners in front of them opened canal after canal. The harvest in this part of the Land of the Thousand Cities was liable to be scanty. The Makuraners, plainly, did not care. One of their armies would have bogged down, and might have become easy meat for raiders. The Videssians did not bog down. But corduroying a road and then recovering the timber that let them do it again was slow, hard work.
Even so, they had come within a day's—a normal day's—march of the river when a courier caught up with them from behind. That was no mean feat in and of itself. Maniakes congratulated the fellow and plied him with rough, sour army wine before asking, «What brought you here through all the Makuraners? It can't be anything
