God’s death didn’t do much to change the lives of the people of Drem’s Maw. In fact, most of them didn’t even know their deity had been slain.

Those who did, however, took advantage.

“There is nothing at all to worry about,” Weallix said, raising his hands as he stood upon an improvised stage made from two carts. He was flanked on one side by a daeril, a hulking creature that only shallowly resembled a man. Daerils came in many types, but this one had deep violet skin and arms as thick as tree trunks.

“You’ve always paid your taxes to me, and I’ve passed them along,” Weallix continued, speaking to the gathered crowd. “Now I’ll keep them myself, and I’ll be your lord. It will be good for you to have a leader who is more local.”

“What of the God King?” someone called from the nervous crowd. Things had been the same in Drem’s Maw for centuries. They worked themselves ragged to meet quota, and were bullied into giving up almost everything they had for the tax collectors.

“The God King has no complaint regarding this arrangement,” Weallix said.

Members of the crowd grumbled, but what could they say? Weallix had daerils and soldiers-and, supposedly, the God King’s blessing.

A stranger stepped up to the edge of the crowd. The air tasted wet and smelled of minerals; Drem’s Maw had been built inside a massive cavern. It had a large grinlike opening a hundred yards across at the front, and thousands of stalactites hung from the ceiling; many were so thick that three men holding hands wouldn’t be able to reach around them.

Only stumps remained of many of the gargantuan rock formations, however. A hundred enormous chains hung down from the cavern roof, their tops bolted to the stone. The town’s men climbed those chains each day and strapped themselves to the ceiling, where they mined for the precious minerals the God King demanded.