Og nodded. "Yes. He hasn't really got the hang of it, though. The ajada trues my music. The way he's working it, that power looks to have somehow drawn nearly every snake in this part of the world to him. Interesting. And the sacrifice-apparently for Chelydrus-the monstrous water snake he says lives in the cauldron-is something he does every now and then, when things aren't going all that well. Like now, I guess-the closed caravan route means he never sees most of what the northern tribes take off the longer road to Fallaji. There's talk that one of the underkings is getting pretty powerful up there. Oh, and don't worry; nobody else has ever seen Chelydrus-it's a figment of Rotapan's imagination."
"How comforting. Og, what precisely does he sacrifice?" asked Claria, tight-lipped and pale.
"Um, well, I'm sure we'll figure something out before we have to talk about that. Keep your eye on me. We may have to run for it, if this gets personal," said Og, silently working out a scheme to retrieve the ajada.
"Silence!" shouted Rotapan. From the drapes of his robe, the half-ore slowly took a long bone carved into the shape of a key and unlocked the cabinet doors, swinging them wide.
This time, Claria was beyond shock. When three shelves full of shrunken heads began to bat their eyes and yawn, she just dug her nails deeply into Cheyne's hand. He wondered how snake bites could possibly be more painful.
"His enemies," whispered Og. "He uses my stone to animate them and make them tell him the future. Again, the stone governs truth, so they can't prophesy lies. They still hate him, though. He can't do anything about their venomous words."
"Why the two empty spots?" murmured Cheyne.
"One is for the riverking, Wiggulf. Didn't you hear him when we came in? He sings all the time in the water dungeon under this temple. Rotapan would have