What could they do?
What could any of them do?
The villagers' anxious, troubled faces said it all. No one had an answer.
Pay the tax? With what money? After all the other taxes, each year's harvest barely kept them fed. They had nothing left over.
But if they failed to pay, the city's tax officials would seize them and sell them to the Nobility as slaves.
They had thought about running. But everyone who had tried, no matter where they fled, had eventually been caught by the tax officials and tortured in public in the city.
Great God of Cruel Officials, please make the Nobility lower their taxes. If we have to pay any more, our children won't have food to eat.
Those with children prayed silently, hoping their god would save them as the gods saved their believers in the Church's scriptures.
"Ten silver coins every month is too much. We don't have that kind of money," said a hunter who often went into the mountains. "Those important people in the city aren't taking our taxes. They're taking our lives."
"Then what can we do?"
The village chief drew a breath and sat down on the ground. "If we don't pay, they'll take us as slaves."
"If we're lucky, we might become servants to nobles. We'd lose our freedom, but at least we'd have food. If we're unlucky and the tax officials send us to the mines, we won't last a few years."
Mining was far harder than farming. The tunnels often connected to the Underground World, and vicious creatures frequently emerged from them. It was dangerous work.
"We could try Faith in the God of Agriculture," Derek, who had been silent until now, said.
"The God of Agriculture?" The village chief gave him a strange look. Had