Emeric Dane

Emeric Dane was not born to carry a banner. He was born to carry sacks.

His father unloaded grain in a southern port. His mother mended sails. At eleven, Emeric already knew how much a wet sack weighs and how much a captain in a hurry will pay.

The Order of the Dawn came to the port one winter. They were looking for arms for a war nobody on the docks understood.

Emeric did not enlist out of faith. He enlisted because they fed you twice a day.

In his first battle he killed no one. He tripped over a broken spear, fell on top of an enemy sergeant and broke his nose with his forehead.

His comrades laughed for a week. The sergeant did not.

That is how he learned to fight. No school. No stance. Blows nobody expects, because not even he knows where they will land.

And when they land well, they land very well.

In the fifth winter, his company's standard-bearer died in the mud, with the banner under his body. Nobody wanted to pick it up.

Carrying the standard means carrying a target. The enemy always aims at the orange sun.

Emeric picked it up. He said it weighed less than a wet sack.

Since then, the standard goes with him. He plants it in the ground and the Order forms up around it.

Every brother still standing steadies his hand. With all of them alive at his back, Emeric hardly ever misses.

When he has no sword at hand, he has the pole. He has knocked down more people with the pole than with the blade.

A dry crack on the helmet. A ringing in the ears. And the enemy's rage goes out all at once, like a candle in a doorway.

He does not pray much. He does not sing the hymns. The most devout brothers say he lacks the faith that banner asks for.

He always gives the same answer: "I do not carry the faith. The banner does. I just hold it up."

As long as the orange sun stays up, the Order of the Dawn stays standing.

And Emeric has no intention of letting it go.