Read Online The Weight of Honor by Morgan Rice - Free Book Online

excitement tempered as he wondered if they could be hostile. After all, who else would be traveling this long stretch of barren road, so far from anywhere? He could not fight and White, snarling half-heartedly, did not have much fight left in him, either. They were at the mercy of whoever was approaching. It was a scary thought.
    The sound grew deafening as the carts neared, and Aidan stood boldly in the center of the road, realizing he could not hide. He had to take his chances. Aidan thought he heard music as they neared, and it deepened his curiosity. They gained speed, and for a moment he wondered if they would run him over.
    Then, suddenly, the entire caravan slowed and stopped before him, as he blocked the road. They stared down at him, the dust settling all around them, a large group, perhaps fifty people, and Aidan blinked up in surprise to see they were not soldiers. They did not appear to be hostile, either, he realized with a sigh of relief. He noticed the wagons filled with all sorts of people, men and women of all different ages. One appeared to be filled with musicians, holding various musical instruments; another was filled with men who appeared to be jugglers or comedians, their faces painted in bright colors and wearing brightly colored tights and tunics; another cart seemed to be filled with actors, men holding scrolls, clearly rehearsing scripts, dressed in dramatic costumes; while another was filled with women—barely clothed, their faces painted with too much makeup.
    Aidan blushed and looked away, knowing he was too young to gape at such things.
    “You, boy!” a voice called out. It was a man with a very long beard, bright red, down to his waist, a peculiar-looking man, with a friendly smile.
    “Is this your road?” he asked in jest.
    Laughter erupted from all the carts, and Aidan blushed.
    “Who are you?” Aidan asked, baffled.
    “I think the better question,” he called back, “is who are you?” They looked down in fear at White as he snarled. “And what on earth are you doing with a Wood Dog? Don’t you know they’ll kill you?” they asked, fear in their voices.
    “Not this one,” Aidan replied. “Are you all…entertainers?” he asked, still curious, wondering what they were all doing out here.
    “A kind word for it!” someone called from a cart, to raucous laughter.
    “We are actors and players and jugglers and gamblers and musicians and clowns!” another man yelled.
    “And liars and scoundrels and whores!” called out a woman, and they all laughed again.
    Someone strummed on a harp, as the laughter increased, and Aidan blushed. A memory came rushing back of when he had once met such people, when he was younger and living in Andros. He recalled watching all the entertainers stream into the capital, entertaining the King; he remembered their brightly colored faces; their juggling knives; a man eating fur; a woman singing songs; and a bard reciting poems from memory that seemed to last for hours. He remembered being puzzled as to why anyone would choose such a life path, and not that of a warrior.
    His eyes lit up as he suddenly realized.
    “Andros!” Aidan called out. “You’re going to Andros!”
    A man jumped off one of the carts and came toward him. He was a large man, perhaps in his forties, with a big belly, an unkempt brown beard, shaggy hair to match, and a warm and friendly smile. He walked over to Aidan and put a fatherly arm around his shoulder.
    “You’re too young to be out here,” the man said. “I’d say you’re lost—but from the wounds on you and that dog of yours, I’m guessing it’s something more. Looks like you got yourself into some trouble and found yourself in too deep—and I’d guess,” he concluded, examining White warily, “that it had something to do with your helping this beast.”
    Aidan remained quiet, not knowing how much to say, while White came over and licked the man’s hand, to Aidan’s surprise.
    “Motley’s what I call