And children these were, the Riddler realized as he stepped closer: The boy out in front of his compatriots was well under thirty.
The youth held his ground, nickering a hand-signal that brought his troops in closer and made Tempus reassess the discipline and training of the rabble closing on him.
Then the Riddler remembered that this boy had had some little congress with
Kama, Tempus’s daughter, a woman who was as good a covert actor as Critias and as good a soldier as Sync.
The boy nodded a crisp assent, then added, “That’s me, old man. What’s this about? You didn’t ‘accidentally’ cross our lines. We won’t make peace with
Jubal’s bluemasks-or with that Bey-licking Kadakithis, who’s sold the Ilsigs out twice over.” The youth widened his stance and Tempus remembered what Sync had said of him: “The boy’s got nearly enough balls, but they override his brains.”
So Tempus responded, “No, not accidentally. I want to talk to you… alone.”
“This is as ‘alone’ as I’m likely to get with you-you’re not half so fetching as your daughter.”
Tempus locked his fingers firmly on his swordbelt, lest they cause trouble on their own, seeking a neck to wring. Then he said, “Zip… as in zero, nothing, zilch… right? Well, despite that, I’ll give you a piece of wisdom, and a chance-because my daughter thinks you’re worth it.” That wasn’t true-or at least he didn’t think so; he’d never spoken to Kama about Zip: She’d earned the right to choose her own bed-partners, and more.
The flat-faced youth, standing in the rain, barked a laugh. “Your daughter lies in with Nisibisi wizards-or at least with Molin Torchholder, who’s tainted with