But I knew even as he spoke that there would never be that time. Too many other things demanded his attention. As always, he immediately plunged into his concern. “Forged ones,” he said. I felt a chill of foreboding run up my spine.
“The Red-Ships have struck again? This deep in winter?” I asked incredulously.
“No. At least we are still spared that. But it seems that the Red-Ships can leave us and go home to their hearths, and still leave their poison among us.” He paused. “Well, go on. Warm yourself and eat. You can chew and listen at the same time.”
As I helped myself to the mulled wine and food, Verity lectured me. “It is the same problem as before. Reports of Forged ones, robbing and despoiling, not just travelers, but isolated farms and houses. I have investigated, and must give credence to the reports. Yet the attacks are happening far from the sites of any raids; and in every case the folk claim there are not one or two Forged ones, but groups of them, acting in concert.”
I considered for a moment, swallowed, then spoke. “I don’t think Forged ones are capable of acting in bands or even as partners. When one encounters them, one finds they have no sense of … community. Of shared humanity. They can speak, and reason, but only selfishly. They are as wolverines would be if given human tongues. They care for nothing but their own survival. They see each other only as rivals for food or comfort of any kind.” I refilled my mug, grateful for the spreading warmth of the wine. At least it pushed aside the physical cold. The chill thought of the bleak isolation of the Forged ones it could not touch.