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

myself,” the man added, reaching out a hand.
    Aidan looked back warily, not shaking his hand but nodding back.
    “Aidan is my name,” he replied.
    “You two can stay out here and starve to death,” Motley continued, “but that’s not a very fun way to die. Me personally, I’d want to at least have a good meal first, then die some other way.”
    The group broke into laughter, while Motley continued holding out his hand, looking at Aidan with kindness and compassion.
    “I expect you two, wounded as you are, need a hand,” he added.
    Aidan stood there proudly, not wanting to show weakness, as his father had taught him.
    “We were doing just fine as we were,” Aidan said.
    Motley led the group in a fresh round of laughter.
    “Of course you were,” he replied.
    Aidan looked suspiciously at the man’s hand.
    “I am going to Andros,” Aidan said.
    Motley smiled.
    “As are we,” he replied. “And as luck would have it, the city is big enough to hold more than just us.”
    Aidan hesitated.
    “You’d be doing us a favor,” Motley added. “We can use the extra weight.”
    “And the extra mouth to feed!” called out a fool from another crowd, to laughter.
    Aidan looked back warily, too proud to accept, but finding a way to save face.
    “Well….” Aidan said. “If I’d be doing you a favor…”
    Aidan took Motley’s hand, and found himself pulled into his cart. He was stronger than Aidan expected, given that, from the way he dressed, he seemed to be a court fool; his hand, beefy and warm, was twice the size of Aidan’s.
    Motley then reached over, hoisted White, and placed him gently in the back of the cart, beside Aidan. White curled up beside Aidan in the hay, head in his lap, eyes half-closed in exhaustion and pain. Aidan understood the feeling too well.
    Motley jumped in and the driver cracked the whip, and the caravan took off, all of them cheering as music played again. It was a jolly song, men and women plucking harps, playing flutes and cymbals, and several of the people, to Aidan’s surprise, danced in the moving carts.
    Aidan had never seen such a happy group of people in his life. His whole life had been spent in the gloom and silence of a fort filled with warriors, and he wasn’t sure what to make of all this. How could anyone be so happy? His father had always taught him that life was a serious thing. Was this all not trivial?
    As they proceeded down the bumpy road, White whined out in pain, while Aidan stroked his head. Motley came over and, to Aidan’s surprise, knelt by the dog’s side and applied a compress to his wounds, covered in a green salve. Slowly, White quieted, and Aidan felt grateful for his help.
    “Who are you?” Aidan asked.
    “Well, I’ve worn many names,” Motley replied. “The best was ‘actor.’ Then there was ‘rogue’, ‘fool,’ ‘jester’…the list goes on. Call me as you will.”
    “You are no warrior, then,” Aidan realized, disappointed.
    Motley leaned back and roared with laughter, tears streaming down his cheeks; Aidan could not understand what was so funny.
    “Warrior,” Motley repeated, shaking his head in wonder. “Now that is one thing I’ve never been called. Nor is it something I have ever wished to be called.”
    Aidan furrowed his brow, not comprehending.
    “I come from a line of warriors,” Aidan said proudly, sticking his chest out as he sat, despite his pain. “My father is a great warrior.”
    “I’m very sorry for you then,” Motley said, still laughing.
    Aidan was confused.
    “Sorry? Why?”
    “That is a sentence,” Motley replied.
    “A sentence?” Aidan echoed. “There is nothing greater in life than to be a warrior. It is all I have ever dreamed of.”
    “Is it?” Motley asked, amused. “Then I feel doubly sorry for you. I think feasting and laughing and sleeping with beautiful women is about as great a thing as there is—far better than parading around the countryside and hoping to stick a sword in another