Honor Among Thieves

Writers: Corrin, Devin, Halyonix, Sia
Date Posted: 4th June 2025

Characters: Hesbia, M'kadja, M'sar, K'valas
Description: Hesbia tells the other Holdless about what happened
Location: Dragonsfall Weyr
Date: month 5, day 9 of Turn 12

Hesbia

M'kadja

Notes:
~*~

Hesbia had spent the first few days at the Weyr in a frustrated search for the dragonrider who had pushed her father off the ledge. She had next to nothing to go on -- no name, no rank, just a few physical appearances that _might_ set him apart -- and she had grossly underestimated how many _people_ were at the Weyr.

She was going to find him. She promised herself that. And when she did…

Hesbia hadn’t figured out that last part yet. With an exasperated growl, she planted herself at the table, her plate heaping, ignoring the rest of those sitting nearby like she always did.

Small, young, handsfull. Not a threat, said the constant calculation in Akadja’s mind, so he didn’t flinch when she thumped herself down. He just raised his brows and glanced sidelong at her overflowing plate.

“What’d the food do to you?” he asked with dry amusement, cutting into his second helping of some terribly decadent, nutty cake. His own plate wasn’t quite so heaping today. He’d learned a sharp lesson about overeating after his scrap with Thenard.

Mesarian sat hunched over his plate, one of his knives on the table next to him as a warning to stay away from his food. There was _so much_ here, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that he had to protect it. He had, at least, slowed down a little since that first day and wasn’t shoveling it in as fast as he could get it down.

“The food did nothing,” Hesbia growled even as she stabbed big bites to shove into her mouth. If nothing else, if she was going to be trapped here until they figured out where to go, she was going to her fill and more before she went back to scarcity and scraps. “I’m trying to find someone -- a dragonrider -- and I don’t know who he is. But I’m _going_.” Stab. “To.” Stab. “Find him.”

“Did someone break your heart already?” Mesarian asked with a smirk.

“What?!” Hesbia sputtered mid-stab. “Did you just insinuate that I was hooking up with a _dragonrider_?!”

“Why not? They have big, warm beds and they _really_ sharding know what they’re doing,” Mesarian said.

Kavalas made a face. "Gross." He said. Then, to Hesbia, "What's he look like? I'll keep an eye out."

“He’s older. Gray hair. But not _old_ old. I don’t know, like sixty? Who knows,” she answered. “He’s got these…these flashing eyes. Like blue. Or grey. Not brown. And he acts like he runs the place.”

Akadja’s knife paused halfway to his mouth. He glanced at Hesbia again, slower this time, the edge of his expression hardening. Sixty. Not a hookup. And she didn’t look happy. “It doesn’t sound like you’re looking for this man because he showed you a good time,” he frowned. “What’d he do to you?”

“Not me,” she answered. She stabbed her knife down into some bread and deflated. Her anger was replaced by despondence, the kind of emotion that came so quickly because it was all still so fresh. “He pushed my father off one of the ledges. He’s…gone.”

“What.” Akadja’s hand stilled entirely now, the slice of redfruit on his knife still halfway to his lips as his grip went white-knuckled and tense. “Where. When?” There was a barely leashed heat that seeped into the questions, an anger that flared even as the girl seemed to deflate. He hardly knew her. Hespia or something. But he didn’t need to know her or like her to bristle at the thought of a dragonrider apparently killing one of their own.

“He _killed_ your da?” Mesarian, too, had paused in his eating.

It hurt, hurt, hurt to have to say aloud, even if anger helped strengthen her voice. “There was this dragonrider who was demanding that we move. Telling us to leave our stuff. Calling us all sorts of bad things. We told him to leave us alone, that we didn’t need his help if he was just going to insult us like that, and he grabbed my dad. I didn’t…I don’t know if my dad tried to punch him or was just trying to get out of his grip, but the r-rider shouted something about not touching him, a-a-and then my d-dad was f-f-falling…” She couldn’t continue her story. Tears began streaming down her cheeks.

Kavalas didn't know what to do, so he almost-gently pat-patted her shoulder in an awkward 'there, there' gesture.

“Well that’s fecked, but it kinda sounds like maybe it was an accident?” Mesarian said. “Or your da tried to start shit with a dragonrider.”

“He started it!” Hesbia snapped as she shrugged off Kavalas’s hand. “Even if it was an accident, even if the dragonrider didn’t _mean_ to do it, he was still an asshole to us and my dad is dead!”

“Our lives don’t count for much,” Mesarian said. “I’m surprised they rescued us at all. Maybe this rider thought he’d thin out the herd a little ‘cause he was mad about the order to save us.”

“He was mad about it! He said so! He said he didn’t want to be there but because the Weyrwoman said he had to be there, he was helping,” Hesbia snapped. “And look what his help did!”

Mesarian shook his head. “Sure made his sharding point, didn’t he?” It was no secret some of the Weyrfolk were angry about the situation.

"There's a pecking order here, just like everywhere." Kavalas felt the need to point out. "If the Weyrwoman says jump /between/, the riders ask where."

“That’s so stupid,” Hesbia remarked. “Just like Holders do with their Lords. Is everything rank and file all over?” What she needed to know was if there was a way to get justice for her father! Surely the dragonriders had some sort of punishment system.

"As opposed to what? Your dippy little cave commune where you think everyone is the same?" Kavalas asked. "Ain't sayin' it was right, what that dragonrider did. But he woulda had as much choice as anyone else in bein' there."

“So am I just supposed to _accept_ it? Let it go?!” Hesbia snapped at Kavalas.

“Maybe you could duel him in the Weyrbowl,” Mesarian suggested. “Look, life sucks and it’s not fair.” He thought she would have learned that by now.

“There’s gotta be some sort of punishment for when someone does this, right?” Hesbia argued back. “I mean, we get exiled for lesser shit.” It was all rhetorical questioning anyway since it seemed like no one had the answers. Hesbia stabbed at her food again. “Doesn’t sharding matter. I don’t know his name or rank or any of that important stuff. It’ll take me sevendays to find him.”

"Sure they have, but they ain't throwing out a dragonrider either." Kavalas said. "Might lose his rank, maybe, if he got one. But go ahead, go to the Weyrleader and see what he says."

“Maybe I will,” Hesbia growled. “Once I figure out who it is.”

Mesarian snorted. “Good luck with that.”

“Will you still keep an eye out for him for me?” Hesbia asked Kavalas. “Just…I don’t know. They wear knots right? Maybe we can narrow it down like that.” But her expression became exasperated. “I’d have to see the knots though. I don’t know them all offhand. Shard it!” Her fist slammed into the table, upset.

“I’ll help keep an eye out for him,” said Akadja grimly, his voice low. “Kavalas isn’t wrong. The Weyr is going to protect its own, but that doesn’t mean you should just roll over and take it.”

Mesarian snickered. “Not unless they’re giving you something real good in return.”

Kavalas frowned at Mesarian. Then, to Hesbia, "Yeah. Point out the knots if you see something familiar. There's only so many of the special ones."

She could do that. She’d figure it out. Somehow! Hesbia nodded fiercely. “Okay, I’ll be on the lookout for the type of knots I saw. And then I’ll let you all know.” And then -- then she’d figure out what exactly to do to the dragonrider that killed her father.

Last updated on the June 10th 2025

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Honor Among Thieves