uncertain, but if Drufalden could freeze Wiggulf out, he could possibly bring down her mountain of ice just with the same stone. And Rotapan is afraid that all that melted ice will make the Silver Sea suddenly rise and swallow his kingdom. Ores don't swim, remember? If Rotapan were to survive that, and still have his stone, he could do some harm to Drufalden, too. It's been a delicate balance. I don't know how he survives, but Wiggulf keeps singing his strange song down there in the dungeon, year after year, waiting for help."
Cheyne nodded as he recalled the eerie wail they had heard as they climbed the stairs. "The other space in the cabinet?"
"Is for me. Gambling debt. I went for double or nothing on the staff and lost. Game was rigged, of course; you should never trust an ore, much less a half-ore,1* Og ended, motioning their attention to the cabinet, where the heads had begun to chatter.
"Hallooo! Well, it's about time, now. Puffer, are you still up there? Shake the straw from your ears and wake up," said one of the heads on the lowest shelf.
"Of course he's still up there. Where else would he be? You say that every time the doors open, Glom," snapped another one, its eyes sewn shut with long, black stitches.
"You know it's the rule of order to recognize the speaker for the house. Mind your tongue, Rasper," replied the first head, managing to sound as wounded as possible.
"Order! O-O-Order!" sputtered the head on the top shelf. "Now, this session of the war cabinet will begin." He called roll, and when all the heads had answered, he announced, "We are all present and accounted for, Overking. How may we serve you today?"
"I have need of determining whether these humans are sent to imperil me. You may commence to prophesy," intoned Rotapan, facing the cabinet, closing his eyes and banging the staff down three times. The red stone cast a pestilential glow on the shriveled heads.