And this was someone who'd been trying not to be pious.

And he really doesn't have the least idea how to calm down the Princess if he says "no."

And he's probably going to have a lot more problems like that in the future.

And it's possible that he might need some help with some of his smithing.

The only question is whether he can trust her... and she's obviously loyal to the Princess...

"Do you want me to swear too, Reverend?"

She'd mean every word of it - she already means every word that Selma said

She's the Princess.  And she'd been in the vision herself.  Unless the gods' Foresight is wrong, there's no way she'll betray the plan.

"There's no need from you, Princess," he says immediately.

"Selma - I accept your oath; let's finish packing and get going before the Empire gets here."

They ride.

Arina is wearing a dingy mud-stained cloak that Fraddir gave her.  It's the worst thing she's ever worn, and she's eagerly waiting to take it off, but she knows it's important to stay in disguise.  She stays quiet and wide-eyed as they ride through the chaos of the city.

Her people, she thinks dumbly.  Her people, brought to this.

"Be strong," Selma whispers to her.  "Be brave."

Arina slightly nods, and retreats back beneath the hood of the cloak.

They ride out of the city into the late afternoon, blending with the stream of refugees already leaving.  Another girl, wearing something almost as dingy, waves at Arina.  She waves back, not knowing what to say.

This's just like what would happen at the start of a ballad, she thinks.  She's going in disguise to avoid the enemy; people do that all the time in the ballads.  And then they learn all sorts of things and get Gifts and the gods choose them for plans...

... and she's going to get all of that too!  She's in a ballad!  It has to be!

Arina opens her mouth to mention this to Selma or Reverend Fraddir, but then she looks at their worried faces and closes it again.  Maybe they already know this.  She can tell them later.

She straightens up a bit.  Nobody ever sings about heroes and heroines slumping over with shock, much less being upset at the disguises they have to wear.

They turn off the main road onto a smaller and less-traveled forest trail as the sun sets.  "Still got a ways to go," Fraddir says, "but I'd rather not be seen too much."

He's been wishing for a while there was a Farseer around in the stream of refugees.  They've got a long ride ahead of them, and he doesn't have any idea where the enemy is or what's going on outside of this one stream of refugees.

Arina, who's been trying to think more about the ballad she has to be in now, asks about the biggest of the big questions she's realized she really wants to fill in.

"Reverend - who is the Emperor?  Why's he doing this?"

He suddenly realizes he's got a lot to explain.  Well, this question at least is easy.

"His name is Arvad.  He's a mage who's made himself immortal.  He says he was living before the Cataclysm; who knows if he's telling the truth there.  He says he founded the Empire; I'm willing to believe him there.  Eventually he said the other Emperors weren't ruling it right, and now he's ruling it himself."

Fraddir can imagine what Arvad must've been feeling seeing so many generations of people enacting his plan the wrong way.  Except, well, Arvad's plan was an evil plan in the first place.

"Why's he making the Empire -- do all this?"

Fraddir shakes his head.  "I don't know."

Selma has actually heard this story.  The former Imperial ambassador had told it several times.  "They say he's mad at the gods for what they've been doing with the world.  He thinks the world needs more big projects like the Imperial canals, and the gods aren't worth anything if they aren't doing that."

Arina thinks a minute about this.  The gods are, well, the gods.  They do good things.  They're... the ones telling this ballad, maybe.  "But... why?  Why's he think that?"

Fraddir and Selma both shake their heads in ignorance.

"How did he make himself immortal?  And if he didn't start out ruling his Empire himself, why'd he change his mind and say nobody else was ruling it the right way?"

Selma pauses, trying to remember.  "They say Arvad said that the other emperors were still letting themselves be influenced by the gods too much, and that meant the Empire was turning out wrong.  And then he vanished for a while - I don't know what he was doing then - but then when your grandfather was king here, Arvad came back and took the throne himself.  They didn't say anything more about why he did that.  And I don't know how he made himself immortal, either."

(Fraddir actually didn't know a lot of what Selma had said about Emperor Arvad.  There're disadvantages to living out in the countryside.  He's already glad she's here.)

He sighs.  "I don't know how either, but I'd guess it involves blood magic."

Arina shivers at the idea of blood magic.

And then she shivers again.

"I'll have to fight the Emperor eventually, won't I?"

Fraddir's vision had shown the Princess fighting someone with magic.  The gods hadn't shown him just whom she was fighting.  But he can guess.

"The gods tell me you will have to fight.  They didn't say who, but... I think so."

... Is it something he can do to hug the Princess? He isn't sure - at least yet - so he bows his head and doesn't.

Arina nods, still shivering.  "If that's my part in the song."

Two days later, the Empire arrives.

At dawn, the Imperial Army marches into Marnon's capital without any resistance.

A few people throw rotten apples and such, until a Military Police detachment grabs and whips the closest throwers and posts a sign saying further resistance will be dealt with more harshly.

The first several temples are promptly burned, the remaining priests are arrested for possible future martyrdom (they're rather hoping for it - all the priests who weren't are fled or hiding), and guards are posted outside the other temples conspicuously noting down the names and physical description of everyone who comes too close.

By the afternoon, Imperial Duke Brettian Arnault is sitting in what used to be the royal castle of Marnon, sitting behind what's now his desk.  It's fairly clear at the moment, but at this point he's just waiting for trouble.  There always is, when you're sitting in gods' territory.  Or when you're running a military operation.  And he's doing both.

At the moment, Duke Arnault is glaring at Lord Teppin, who used to be the Royal Marnon Vice-Chamberlain.  The Military Police have regretfully explained to him that Teppin is the highest-ranking person they've found in the city, and Arnault is just waiting to see if that's the first sign of some trouble.  Still, he's going to play out his hand - he told them to give Teppin the basic truthtelling and nonviolence compulsions, and bring him in for an interview.

"Well?" Arnault folds his hands and gives Teppin a long glare.  "What is the state of things?"