Parops nodded again, and Nero felt a shiver as he realized that his words would be at large in the city now, darting from mind to mind, perhaps even reaching the Royal Court itself.
‘There are still some foreigners leaving by the west gate,’ the Ant said carefully. ‘In fact there are still foreigners coming in by the west gate – mostly slavers hunting a late sale. It’s probably time you made your move.’
‘I’ll stay a little while,’ Nero said casually.
‘I get the impression that when these fellows draw sword they’re not going to care what kinden you are, if you’re found inside the walls.’
‘More than likely true,’ Nero admitted.
Parops at last turned from the window and his obsessive scrutiny of the near future.
‘Why are you here, Nero?’ he asked. ‘Your race is hardly renowned for its staying power in the fray. You run further to live longer, isn’t that it? So why haven’t you done what any sensible human being would do, and run while you can?’
Nero shrugged. Partly it was due to his friendship with Parops, of course, but there was another reason, and it was such a personal, trivial thing that he was ashamed to admit it. ‘I’ve never witnessed a war,’ he said. ‘I’ve put a few skirmishes under my belt, over the years, but never a war. Not really. I did a study once, the Battle of the Gears at the Collegium gates, you know, and shall we say critical reception was lukewarm. That’s because it was beyond my experience, and I couldn’t capture it. And so that’s my reason, as good as any other – and it’s a poor one, I know.’