Heritage of Cyador (saga of recluce Book 18) Read Online Free PDF Page B

He held me, and then went to sleep.” Her voice catches, and she swallows. “I think he knew. I told you once, you might recall…”
    “That he had a sense, a certainty about some things. I remember.”
    “You would.” Maeroja’s smile is gentle, but sad. “He told me what was in the letter, but I did not read it. It is for you, and you alone. He said you would understand.”
    Lerial takes the letter. On the outside is his name, written in a precise but slightly ornate script. He looks up. “I would read it now, with you here.”
    “If you read it to yourself…”
    Lerial nods. After a moment, he breaks the seal and begins to read.
    Dear Lerial—
    There is a time for all things, and a way to end them. It is fitting that, since the beginning of my life was never quiet, the ending will be. What you will and must do is also fitting. What I task you with, and it is a task and not a request, is to assure that the heirs of the Malachite Throne do not perish, that they do not stoop to petty bargains for a peace that will not last, and that their heritage will shine on when the City of Light is long forgotten. This does not mean you are to re-create Cyad or Cyador. That time is past. It does mean that what was best of that time should live on through you and what you do.
    Lerial lowers the letter slightly. Why me? Why not Lephi? What did he know that he never said?
    … You will likely not understand fully the burden I have placed on you for some time to come, much as you may think you have. Then I could be deceiving myself. That becomes easier, even necessary, when one has great hopes for another.

    If one chooses power over good, then that power will fail in time, as it did in Cyador. If one chooses good over power, then evil will triumph because there will not be strength to oppose it. Finally, it is not good to be merciful, if that mercy will doom others in even greater numbers. All this, you know. Knowing what to do, regardless of what others including sages say, is not the most difficult task. Doing what needs to be done for good to survive is far harder. Good only needs to survive, not triumph.
    Those words strike Lerial— Good only needs to survive, not triumph. Then he looks at Maeroja and nods.
    Before he can continue, she speaks. “Your expressions when you read the letter … Some of them were like his. You are more alike than you know.”
    Once Lerial would have protested that, and certainly he still would likely have rejected that observation from anyone but Maeroja.

    … As for the blade you bear, I am fairly sure that it belonged to one of the great ones, possibly even Lorn himself, although I cannot be certain. I am absolutely certain that it is and should be yours. Call this the certainty of an ancient Lancer.

    Use it to balance good and power.
    At the bottom, there is a single ornate “A.” At that moment, Lerial realizes that he has never seen the majer’s handwriting before … and most likely never will again.
    After a long moment, he refolds the letter and slips it inside his riding jacket. “Thank you.”
    “I only did what he asked.”
    “You have always done more than that, I think.” As he did for you.
    Another silence follows before he asks, “How are Rojana and the girls?” As the words leave his lips, he realizes the meaning of the way he has inquired, and he blocks a self-amused smile.
    “All three are fine. Rojana can handle Kinaar quite well in my absence … if not quite so well as she thinks. She has taken over the brewery and is expanding production.”
    “Because she detests the shimmersilk worms and will do anything else?”
    “There is some truth to that.”
    Lerial does let himself smile. “She is quite a young woman.”
    “She is.”
    “One other thing…” Lerial pauses.
    “Yes?” The hint of a smile appears at the corners of her mouth.
    “Father said you would be joining us for refreshments and dinner at fifth glass. I would be greatly disappointed if you