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Fireheart took a deep breath. “You remember the story that Ravenpaw told, that Redtail killed Oakheart at the battle of the Sunningrocks?”
Bluestar stiffened. “Fireheart, that is over,” she growled. “I told you before, I have reasons enough to be satisfied that this isn’t true.”
“I know.” Fireheart bowed his head respectfully. “But I’ve found out something new.”
Bluestar waited in silence. Fireheart couldn’t tell what she was thinking. “No cat killed Oakheart—not Redtail, not Tigerclaw,” he went on, nervously aware that it was too late now to change his mind. “Oakheart died when a rock collapsed on top of him.”
Bluestar frowned. “How do you know this?”
“I…I went to see Ravenpaw again,” Fireheart admitted. “After the last Gathering.” He was ready for anger as he made his confession, but the Clan leader remained calm.
“So that’s why you were late,” she observed.
“I had to find out the truth,” Fireheart meowed quickly. “And I—”
“Wait a moment,” Bluestar interrupted. “Ravenpaw told you at first that Redtail killed Oakheart. Is he changing his story now?”
“No, not at all,” Fireheart promised. “I misunderstood him. Redtail was partly responsible for Oakheart’s death, because he drove him under the overhanging rock that collapsed on top of him. But he didn’t mean to kill him. And that’s what you couldn’t believe,” he reminded Bluestar. “That Redtail would deliberately kill another cat. Besides…”
“Well?” Bluestar sounded as calm as ever.
“I went across the river and spoke to a RiverClan cat,” Fireheart confessed. “Just to be sure. She told me that it’s true: Oakheart died from the rockfall.” He looked at his paws, bracing himself for Bluestar’s fury that he had been trespassing on enemy territory, but when he looked up again, there was nothing in the leader’s eyes except for intense interest.
She gave him a slight nod, and Fireheart went on. “So we know for a fact that Tigerclaw was lying about how Oakheart died—he didn’t kill him himself, in revenge for Redtail. The rockfall killed him. Isn’t it possible that he is lying about Redtail’s death as well?”
As he spoke, Bluestar began to look troubled, narrowing her eyes so that only the faintest sliver of blue showed in the dim light of the den. She let out a long sigh. “Tigerclaw is a fine deputy,” she murmured. “And these are serious charges.”
“I know,” Fireheart agreed quietly. “But can’t you see, Bluestar, how dangerous he is?”
Bluestar sank her head onto her chest. She was silent for so long that Fireheart wondered if he should leave, but she had not dismissed him.
“There’s something else,” he ventured. “Something strange about two of the RiverClan warriors.”
Bluestar looked up at that; her ears flicked forward. For a heartbeat Fireheart hesitated to spread the rumors of a temperamental RiverClan elder, but his need to know the truth gave him the courage to go on. “Ravenpaw told me that in the Sunningrocks battle Oakheart stopped Redtail from attacking a warrior named Stonefur. Oakheart said that no ThunderClan cat should ever harm Stonefur. I…I had the chance to speak to one of the RiverClan elders. She told me that Oakheart brought Mistyfoot and Stonefur to her when they were tiny kits. It was leaf-bare, and she said that the kits would have died with no one to take care of them. Graypool—the elder—suckled them. She said that…that they had the scent of ThunderClan kits. Could that be true? Were kits ever stolen from our camp?”
For a few heartbeats he thought Bluestar had not heard him, she was so still. Then she rose to her paws and padded forward a couple of paces until she stood almost nose to nose with him. “And you listened to this nonsense?” she hissed.
“I just thought I should—”
“This isn’t what I expect from you, Fireheart,” Bluestar growled. Her eyes glittered like ice, and her hackles were raised. “To go into enemy territory and listen to idle gossip? To believe what a RiverClan cat tells you? You would do better to think about your own duties than to come here telling tales about Tigerclaw.” She studied him for a long moment. “Maybe Tigerclaw is right to doubt your loyalty.”
“I—I’m sorry,” Fireheart stammered. “But I thought Graypool was telling the truth.”
Bluestar let out a long breath. All the interest she had shown before had vanished, leaving her expression cold and remote. “Go,” she ordered. “Find yourself something useful to do—something that befits a warrior. And never—never—mention this to me again. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Bluestar.” Fireheart began backing out of the den. “But what about Tigerclaw? He—”
“Go!” Bluestar spat the command.
Fireheart’s paws scrabbled in the sand in his haste to obey. Once out of the den he turned and hurtled across the clearing, only coming to rest when he had put several fox-lengths between himself and Bluestar. He felt utterly bewildered. At first Bluestar had seemed prepared to listen to him, but as soon as he mentioned the stolen ThunderClan kits, she had refused to hear any more.
A sudden chill swept through Fireheart. What if Bluestar began to wonder how he had managed to speak with the RiverClan cats? What if she found out about Graystripe and Silverstream? And what about Tigerclaw? For a short time, Fireheart had let himself hope that he could make Bluestar understand how dangerous the deputy was.
Thistles and thorns, he thought. Now she won’t hear another word against Tigerclaw. I blew it!
CHAPTER 7
Confused and unhappy, Fireheart made for the warriors’ den. Before he reached it he hesitated. He did not want to risk meeting Tigerclaw, and he wasn’t in the mood for sharing tongues with his friends.
Instead, almost unconsciously, he headed for the tunnel of ferns that led to Yellowfang’s den. Cinderpaw limped out and almost collided with him. Fireheart fell back on his haunches with a thump, and Cinderpaw skidded to a halt, spraying him with snow.
“Sorry, Fireheart,” she puffed. “I didn’t see you there.”
Fireheart shook the snow off his coat. His heart felt suddenly lighter at the sight of Cinderpaw, her blue eyes sparkling with mischief, and fur sticking out in all directions. This was how she used to look, when she was his apprentice; for a while, after the accident, Fireheart had been afraid that this Cinderpaw had vanished forever. “What’s the hurry?” he asked.
“I’m going out to look for herbs for Yellowfang,” Cinderpaw explained. “So many cats have been ill, what with all this snow, that her stocks are getting very low. I want to find as much as I can before it gets dark.”
“I’ll come and help you,” Fireheart offered. Bluestar had told him to do something useful, and not even Tigerclaw could find fault if he went to collect herbs for the medicine cat.
“Great!” Cinderpaw meowed happily.
Side by side, they headed across the clearing toward the gorse tunnel. Fireheart had to slow his pace to match Cinderpaw’s, but if she was aware of it she didn’t seem to mind.
Just before they reached the tunnel, Fireheart heard the shrill voices of kits. He turned and stared at the branches of a fallen tree, close to the elders’ den. A group of kits had surrounded Brokentail, who had been given a nest among the branches.
Ever since Bluestar had offered shelter to Brokentail, he had lived alone in his den, with warriors to guard him. Not many cats passed that way, and the kits had no reason to be anywhere near him.
“Rogue! Traitor!” That was Cloudkit’s voice raised in a jeering meow. Fireheart watched in alarm as the white kit darted forward, jabbed Brokentail in the ribs with one paw, and scrambled back out of range. One of the other kits copied him, squealing, “Can’t catch me!”
Darkstripe, whose turn it was to guard the blind cat, made no attempt to send the kits away. He sat a fox-length away, watching with his paws tucked under him and a gleam of amusement in his eyes.
Brokentail swung his head from side to side in frustration, but with his cloudy, unseeing eyes he
could not retaliate. His dark tabby fur looked dull and patchy, and his broad face was scored with scars, some of them from the clawing that had ruined his eyes. There was no trace of the former arrogant and bloodthirsty leader now.
Fireheart exchanged a worried glance with Cinderpaw. Many cats, he knew, thought Brokentail deserved to suffer, but seeing the former leader so old and helpless, he could not help feeling a scrap of pity. Anger began to burn inside him as the taunting went on. “Wait for me,” he mewed to Cinderpaw, and hurried over toward the edge of the clearing.
He saw Cloudkit pounce on the blind tom’s tail, worrying it with needle-sharp teeth. Brokentail scrabbled away from him on unsteady legs and swiped one paw in his direction.
In an instant, Darkstripe jumped to his paws, hissing, “Touch that kit, traitor, and I’ll flay your skin in strips!”
Fireheart was too angry to speak. Leaping toward Cloudkit, he grabbed him by the scruff of the neck and swung him around, away from Brokentail.
Cloudkit wailed in protest. “Stop it! That hurts!”
Fireheart dropped him roughly into the snow and let out a low growl through bared teeth. “Go home!” he ordered the other kits. “Go home to your mothers. Now!”
The kits stared at him, wide-eyed with fear, and then scuttled off, to disappear into the nursery.
