Teri McLaren
"Archaeologist," Cheyne interjected.
Og went on. "We seek only passage to the Borderlands. We hope to return with treasure, and with such would gladly pay your fee for safegoing."
With the word treasure, Rotapan's nose crinkled up like a dried fig, and he cackled loudly.
"You come into my temple with two stinking humans who don't have so much as a second name between them and expect me to believe you are hot on the trail to treasure? You cannot be serious." He began to cough with laughter, finally doubling over in some sort of spasm and almost dropping the staff.
One of the puffadders lying near Cheyne's ankle made a sudden movement toward Claria, its mouth wide with aggression. Rotapan hastily tightened his grip on the rod and brought it down sharply on the marble step. The adder dropped harmlessly to the ground, leaving Claria gritting her teeth to keep from shrieking.
"But perhaps you think you are serious, I see," the overking continued. "Hmm… You have told me lies before, Og. Your head is already promised to me. Should I collect your bones now, or wait for you to make me richer? It's also time for another sacrifice."
He eyed Cheyne suspiciously. "You are a digger? You hunt for lost things, lost hoards? What time has buried, from the glorious days of antiquity?"
Cheyne nodded.
"You smell strange, digger. I wonder if you are not sent here to dig up my kingdom. Perhaps you are sent by Riolla? Remain where you are. I must consult my cabinet."
He stepped gingerly through the coils of a boras and over a ghost cobra, its white scales reflecting the glow of the red gemstone in the ornament, and banged the staff on a large wooden cupboard,
"All right, Og, what's this about a sacrifice and when is he going to let us go? We have to get out of here," whispered Cheyne, adjusting the cord on his amulet. "That's your ajada, isn't it?"