Chapter 4 — The Empty Coffin

Chapter 4: Chapter 4 — The Empty Coffin

Chapter 4 — The Empty Coffin

The dead and the few belongings recovered from the missing arrived three days later. House Drake opened the lower courtyard before sunrise. Servants carried benches from the hall while soldiers raised a long canvas awning against the heat, and by midmorning families from the estate had filled nearly every space beneath it. Edmund Drake’s empty coffin stood closest to the castle steps, covered by his cloak and the House Drake banner. Captain Gerard Harland lay beside him, followed by the men of House Drake whose bodies had been recovered from the north. Several coffins remained closed, and five more stood empty, covered with the dead soldiers’ cloaks.

Christopher stood beside Viscount Osbert and accepted condolences from people he did not know. The borrowed memories supplied some of their names — tenant farmers, village elders, retired soldiers who had served with Edmund years earlier. Christopher nodded when they bowed and thanked them when they spoke about his father, though he felt like an intruder at someone else’s funeral. The grief around him was real. Osbert barely spoke, Godfrey stood near Edmund’s coffin with his jaw set, and even Hugh and Ranulf had put aside their usual expressions.

Christopher’s eyes found Edmund’s painted shield resting against the coffin. He remembered Edmund lifting a frightened boy onto a horse and walking beside him. The memory was warm, but the grief around the courtyard still belonged to other people.

That guilt stayed with him through the service, as the priest read the names of the dead one by one and some families answered when they heard a name. A widow near the front whispered, "Here," for her husband; an old man did the same for both of his sons. When the priest reached the names belonging to the empty coffins, nobody moved for several seconds. Then the families answered for them too. Christopher listened until the names began to blur together: House Drake had sent two Silver Knights, ten Bronze Knights, fifteen Black Iron Knights, and twenty Forged Knights north beneath Edmund’s banner, and only about half of them returned. The coffins in the courtyard represented those whose bodies had been brought home; the empty ones stood for the missing.

Of the two Silver Knights, only one came back. Captain Gerard Harland’s name came near the end — he was the Silver Knight who had died beside Edmund. Edwin stood with his mother and younger sister, and when his mother answered first, her voice broke halfway through the word, so Edwin finished it for her. When Edmund’s name was called, everyone looked toward Christopher and Osbert. Osbert answered. Christopher could not make himself speak.

He remembered his own father calling him after an exam and asking why a passing grade sounded like a funeral, and remembered promising to do better next time. The memory had nothing to do with Edmund, yet it was the only thought in his mind as the priest spoke about the dead lord’s courage. Godfrey caught his eye once, and Christopher lowered his head, letting the knight mistake his silence for grief. After the prayers, soldiers carried bowls of wine along the rows, and each family poured a small amount onto the ground before drinking — a custom Christopher knew from the borrowed memories, since Edmund had done the same at other soldiers’ wakes.

Christopher poured his share beside the coffin.

"For the road," Osbert said quietly.

Christopher drank what remained. The wine was bitter, much stronger than he expected, and he coughed once into his sleeve; Ranulf noticed but said nothing. When the priest finished speaking, the families were allowed to approach the coffins, and Christopher stepped away from Osbert to find Edwin Harland sitting alone on a low stone wall near the stables.

Edwin was the same age as Christopher, thin and slightly taller, with uneven dark blond hair he had probably cut himself. His formal coat did not fit across the shoulders, since it had probably belonged to Gerard. The original Christopher recognized him immediately, and years of memories followed: Edwin hiding a frog inside Christopher’s boot, Christopher pushing him into a pond, both boys lying about who had broken a window in the west hall, Edwin discovering that he could sense mana and talking for an hour without allowing Christopher to answer.

The memories were easier to watch than those involving Edmund, most of them ordinary and stupid. Christopher walked over and sat beside him. Edwin glanced at him. "You escaped."

"From what?"

"Lady Mercer has been speaking to your grandfather for half an hour. I thought you were trapped beside them."

"I stopped listening after she told me I had my father’s chin."

Edwin gave a weak laugh. "You don’t."

"I know."

Christopher had answered without searching the borrowed memories first, and Edwin took the answer at face value. They watched two soldiers carry another wreath toward the coffins.

"Everyone keeps telling me he died well," Edwin said.

"Your father?"

"No, mine. They say he held the line beside Lord Edmund. They say the others escaped because he stayed." Edwin rubbed his hands together. "I think they expect that to help."

"Does it?"

"Not really."

"Then they should stop saying it."

Edwin looked surprised, then nodded. "They should."

Christopher pictured the empty chair at his family’s table. Gerard’s coffin stood only a few paces away, yet his own family remained somewhere he could not reach, and neither distance improved the silence left behind.

"I’m sorry," Christopher said.

Edwin’s gaze moved to Gerard’s coffin. "I’m sorry about your father too."

They sat without speaking for a while. Near the coffins, Gerard’s widow tried to light a memorial taper: the first match failed, the second snapped between her fingers. Edwin rose halfway from the bench, but his aunt reached the woman first and shielded the third flame with both hands. Edwin sat again. A strip of wood had come loose from the bench, and he worried it back and forth with one thumbnail until it broke free, rolling the splinter between his fingers, watching the small flame beside his father’s coffin instead of the people offering condolences.

Christopher searched the borrowed memories for something useful. Edwin spoke before he found it.

"You look different."

Christopher’s back stiffened. "Different how?"

"You look exhausted."

"I haven’t slept much."

"Neither have I."

Edwin accepted the answer. Christopher relaxed.

"Godfrey said you reached Black Iron," Edwin added.

"News travels quickly here."

"You nearly bled to death in the training room. Servants are going to talk."

"I didn’t nearly bleed to death."

Edwin raised an eyebrow.

"Fine," Christopher said. "It was close."

"You’re still an idiot."

Edwin had called him that many times before.

"I’ve already received a lecture from everyone else."

"Good. Then I don’t have to make mine long."

"You were planning one?"

"I had notes."

For the first time that morning, Christopher smiled without forcing it. A woman called Edwin’s name from beneath the awning — his mother, standing with a girl of perhaps twelve beside her — and Edwin raised a hand to show he had heard.

"They’re having a difficult time," he said.

Christopher knew he meant both of them.

"What will you do now?"

Edwin looked down at his hands. "Magister Deepwell wants me to leave with him."

"Leave for where?"

"He wants us to go to Alvion."

The name brought scattered memories of maps and lessons. Alvion was one of the great centers of magical study, its academies accepting very few foreigners without noble sponsors or exceptional talent.

"He found you a place?" Christopher asked.

"A chance at one. I still have to pass their examination."

"That’s what you wanted."

"Before."

Edwin’s eyes drifted to his mother and sister.

"Magister Deepwell says they can come. He arranged passage and somewhere for us to stay until I enter the academy. If I fail, we return."

"Do you want to go?"

"I don’t know."

Christopher almost told him to stay with his family. Then he remembered Edwin’s father was the reason the family no longer felt whole.

"When do you have to decide?"

"He needs my answer tomorrow."

Edwin stood when another relative approached Gerard’s coffin. "I should go back."

Christopher followed more slowly. As they moved beneath the awning, he remembered the colors seen through Dragon Eyes — Godfrey had appeared Blue, though Christopher still did not know exactly what the colors meant, only that they showed potential rather than present rank. Edwin was already a magic apprentice, and if anyone nearby was worth examining, it was him.

Christopher waited until they passed behind one of the canvas supports. Most people were facing the coffins, and Edwin had turned toward his mother. Christopher drew a small amount of Essence toward his eyes, and heat gathered behind them as the courtyard dimmed. Edwin’s body appeared against the gray surroundings, filled with a purple light stronger and clearer than the blue Christopher had seen inside Godfrey, gathering around channels that spread from Edwin’s chest toward his head and hands.

Christopher held the sight for only a heartbeat, then released it before Edwin turned. Purple. House Drake celebrated children with Blue potential. Purple belonged in old stories and famous names.

"Are you all right?" Edwin asked.

"I am all right."

"Your face is red."

"It’s hot."

That was true, because the southern sun had heated the courtyard despite the awning. Edwin gave him a doubtful look but did not press. His mother reached them, her eyes swollen from crying, and though she greeted Christopher properly and thanked him for sitting with her son, Christopher wanted to tell her it was unnecessary. Before he could, another memory showed her serving both boys food after they returned soaked from the pond.

"Edwin sat with me," he said instead.

She managed a small smile. The younger girl took Edwin’s hand, and he squeezed hers and led them toward Gerard’s coffin. Christopher stayed behind and watched Edwin stand beside it, purple light still filling his body. Dragonwatch needed a mage, and the thought came quickly enough to shame him. Edwin’s sister pressed against his side, his mother on the other, one hand resting on Gerard’s coffin. Christopher turned away before wanting could become a request.

Edwin came to Christopher’s room the following afternoon. He stood near the door until Christopher put aside the estate map he had been reading.

"You decided," Christopher said.

Edwin nodded. "We’re going to Alvion."

His voice sounded flat. Christopher pointed toward the chair across from his desk, and Edwin sat, then immediately stood again and walked to the window.

"When do you leave?" Christopher asked.

"Three days. Magister Deepwell is traveling with a merchant group as far as Griffin City. We join an imperial caravan from there."

"Your mother agreed?"

"She says Father wanted me to go."

"Did your father want you to accept?"

"Probably. He complained about mages constantly, but he kept every letter Magister Deepwell sent about my lessons."

Edwin looked into the courtyard.

"My sister wants to see the academy towers. She thinks they float."

Christopher waited for Edwin to smile. He did not.

"Don’t correct her yet," Christopher said.

"I haven’t."

Edwin finally sat down. The original Christopher had envied him, not enough to damage their friendship, but enough that the feeling appeared in several memories. Edwin could sense mana, work spells, study things Christopher could barely understand, and the offer from Alvion had once caused their worst argument: the original Christopher accusing Edwin of wanting to leave everyone behind, Edwin answering that Christopher would leave too if anyone invited him somewhere worth going.

Neither boy had spoken to the other for six days. Now Edwin waited for the same argument to begin again.

"You should go," Christopher said.

Edwin blinked. "That’s all?"

"What else do you want me to say?"

"I don’t know. I expected an argument."

"I expected an argument too."

Edwin leaned back in the chair. "You really have changed."

Christopher’s hand stopped over the map.

"My father died."

The answer worked again. Edwin’s suspicion disappeared, replaced by guilt.

"I know. Sorry."

"Stop apologizing."

Edwin rubbed his thumb over a crack in the chair arm, and neither of them spoke until the silence became uncomfortable. Christopher opened one of the desk drawers, moved the folded paper containing the names of his own family aside, and removed a small wooden box that had belonged to the original Christopher. Inside were coins saved from years of allowances and gifts — not a large amount by House Drake’s standards, but more money than most families on the estate handled in a year.

Christopher placed the box on the desk.

"I want you to take this."

Edwin eyed it without reaching. "Why are you giving me money?"

"You’re moving to another empire."

"Magister Deepwell arranged the journey."

"He arranged passage. That doesn’t mean you won’t need money when you arrive."

Edwin pushed the box back. "Keep it. You’re the one being sent to a ruin."

Christopher pushed it toward him again. "House Drake is supplying my expedition."

"Not generously, according to everyone in the castle."

"I still have more than you."

"That’s a terrible reason."

"It’s enough of one."

Edwin opened the box and frowned at the coins. "This is too much."

"Then don’t spend all of it."

"Christopher."

"Use it for your mother and sister. Food, rooms, clothes, whatever they need before you enter the academy."

Edwin’s expression changed at the mention of his family. Christopher continued before he could refuse again. "Take care of them when you get there."

"I was already planning to."

"Good. Now you can afford to do it properly."

Edwin looked down at the box. The money had belonged to the original Christopher, and Edwin had been his closest friend.

"You don’t owe me anything," he said.

"I know that I owe you nothing."

"I mean it."

"I know you mean it."