“I had heard from captain yos’Galan,” the master said quietly, “that you had achieved a level of skill equal to that of a second class pilot. Perhaps I misunderstood?”

Er Thom inclined his head respectfully. “In fact, sir, I have achieved my second class license.”

The Master’s eyebrows rose, as if in astonishment. “Have you, indeed? Show it, of your kindness.”

Now he was in for it in truth. A short series of keystrokes from the board at which they sat, and Master ven’Ducci could transform the treasured second class license into a mere third class—or into no license at all. such was the power of a master pilot.

Still, it would reflect poorly on his melant’i—and on the melant’i of the Captain his mother—if he were seen to either flinch or hesitate in the face of this order. Er Thom neither flinched nor hesitated, but pulled the card from its slot in the practice board and held it out to his instructor in fingers that were, amazingly, steady.

Master ven’Ducci received the license gravely and subjected it to a leisurely, frowning study, as if he had never seen such a thing before. Er Thom folded his hands forcibly in his lap and set his tongue between his teeth, lest he be tempted to blurt out any of the defenses of his own skill that were rising in his throat.

Halflings defended before they were attacked, and he, Er Thom yos’Galan, was not a halfling. He was a pilot of Korval. Specifically, he was a second class pilot of Korval, the license fairly earned on the same day that Daav his foster-brother, boon comrade and fiercest competitor, received his provisional second class.

Master ven’Ducci finished his inspection and laid the license on the edge of the board.

“How came you by this?” Er Thom took a careful breath, and met the man’s eyes with what he hoped was grave calm.