Ruhrogue Shadowstride lay flat in the brush and counted six goblins on the road below. The road led to the castle where Prestocat Lionheart took oaths from new warriors. Ruhrogue had come a long way to swear one. He had watched Prestocat walk into a burning village and carry out a tiger cub while the villagers stood and did nothing. That was the day Ruhrogue decided where his sword would go. The two warriors who had traveled with him were already gone ahead by another route. He had agreed to meet them at the gate by dusk. The goblins wore the same red rags as the ones who had burned the village. Six against one, on open road, would end before he drew his blade. He could not go back. He could not wait. The sun had already cleared the trees, and the gate would close at dusk whether he stood at it or not. He studied the land. A jagged spur of rock rose from the far side of the road, tall as three men and split by a deep crack down its face. From the top, he guessed, he could see the castle road past the goblin line. The rock was too steep to climb quietly, and any scrape of claw on stone would bring the patrol up the slope. He unhooked the iron grappling hook from his belt. The teeth were filed sharp, the rope wrapped in dark cloth to keep it from slapping. He had practiced the throw a hundred times in empty fields. He had never thrown it with six blades waiting below. He waited until a crow called and the nearest goblin turned his head. Ruhrogue threw. The hook cleared the lip and bit into stone with a soft tick. No head turned on the road. He climbed hand over hand, feet against the rock, breath shallow. Halfway up, a chip of stone broke loose under his boot and dropped. He froze and watched it fall. It struck moss at the base and made no sound. He kept climbing. At the top he flattened himself and pulled the rope up behind him, coiling it tight. Below, the goblins talked and laughed about a wagon they meant to ambush at noon. They never looked up. From the spur he saw the castle road bend north through a stand of pine. He could follow the ridge above it for a mile and drop down past the patrol. He would reach the gate before dusk. He would stand with the other two warriors and ask Prestocat for a place in his order. Ruhrogue tied the rope to his belt and started along the ridge, silent as the one who had taught him to be silent, and that one was dead, and he would not say the name.