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“Can I talk to her if she’s there?” Cloudpaw asked.
“Okay, as long as you’ve caught plenty of fresh-kill by then. But you’re not to go looking for her in the Twoleg gardens. Or their nests.”
“I won’t.” Cloudpaw’s eyes gleamed, and his snowy fur was fluffed up with excitement. Fireheart couldn’t help remembering how nervous he had felt before his own first assessment; Cloudpaw, in contrast, was bursting with confidence.
“Off you go, then,” Fireheart meowed. “Try to get there by sunhigh.” He watched the young apprentice race off toward the tunnel. “Pace yourself!” he called after him. “You’ve a long way to go!”
But Cloudpaw didn’t slow down as he disappeared into the gorse. Shrugging, more amused than annoyed, Fireheart glanced around at Graystripe, but his friend was nowhere to be seen. His half-eaten magpie was left beside the nettle patch. He must be in the nursery already, Fireheart thought, and turned to follow Cloudpaw out of the camp.
The apprentice’s scent was strong, showing where the young cat had ranged back and forth through the woods in search of prey. A flurry of loose feathers told of a caught thrush, and specks of blood on the grass showed that a mouse had fallen to his claws. Not far from the edge of the Tallpines, Fireheart found the spot where Cloudpaw had buried his fresh-kill so he could return for it later.
Impressed that his apprentice was hunting well so early in his training, Fireheart put on speed, hoping to catch up and watch him stalking his prey. But before he reached Twolegplace he caught sight of Cloudpaw racing back along his own scent trail, his fur bristling and a wild light in his eyes.
“Cloudpaw!” Fireheart ran forward to meet him, his body tingling with sudden fear.
Cloudpaw skidded to a halt, his claws scattering pine needles, barely managing to avoid a collision with Fireheart. “Something’s wrong!” he panted.
“What?” Icy claws clutched at Fireheart’s belly. “Not Princess?”
“No, nothing like that. But I saw Tigerclaw, and there were some strange cats with him.”
“At Twolegplace?” Fireheart meowed sharply. “Where we smelled them the day we visited Princess?”
“That’s right.” Cloudpaw’s whiskers twitched. “They were huddled together, just on the edge of the trees. I tried to get closer to hear what they were saying, but I was afraid they would see my white fur. So I came to find you.”
“You did the right thing,” Fireheart told him, his mind racing frantically. “What were these cats like? Did they have a Clan scent?”
“No.” Cloudpaw wrinkled his nose. “They smelled of crowfood.”
“And you didn’t recognize them?”
Cloudpaw shook his head. “They were thin and hungry-looking. Their fur was all mangy. They were horrible, Fireheart!”
“And they were talking to Tigerclaw.” Fireheart frowned. That was the detail that worried him. He could take a guess at who the strange cats were—the former ShadowClan warriors who had left their Clan with Brokentail when he had been driven out. They had caused trouble before, and there were no other rogues that Fireheart knew of in the forest now—but what Tigerclaw was doing with them was a mystery.
“All right,” he mewed to Cloudpaw. “Follow me. And keep as quiet as if you were creeping up on a mouse.” He headed cautiously toward Twolegplace, stalking from paw to paw over the softly cracking pine needles. Long before he reached the edge of the forest he picked up the strong reek of cats. The only one he could identify was Tigerclaw, and as if the thought had summoned him the deputy came into sight at that moment, bounding through the trees in the direction of the camp.
There was no undergrowth to provide cover under the pine trees. All Fireheart and Cloudpaw could do was flatten themselves in one of the deep furrows carved out by the Treecut monster and pray to StarClan they wouldn’t be seen.
A group of scrawny warriors poured after Tigerclaw. Their jaws were parted eagerly and their eyes blazed. All the cats were so intent on the trail that they never noticed Fireheart and Cloudpaw, crouching in their scant cover a few rabbit-hops away.
Fireheart lifted his head and watched them race out of sight. For a moment he was frozen with horror and disbelief. There were more of them, he realized, than the group who had left ShadowClan with Brokentail moons before. Tigerclaw must have recruited more loners from somewhere. And he was leading them straight toward the ThunderClan camp!
CHAPTER 27
“Run!” Fireheart ordered his apprentice. “Run like you’ve never run before!”
Already he was pelting through the trees, not waiting to see if Cloudpaw could keep up. There was just a faint hope that he could outpace Tigerclaw and the rogues, and warn the Clan.
He sent out all those patrols this morning, Fireheart thought, fighting back panic. And he told me to follow Cloudpaw. He left the camp with barely a warrior to defend it. He’s been planning this all along!
Fireheart hurtled through the trees, his powerful muscles bunching and stretching as he drove himself on. But when he reached the ravine, he realized that he had not run fast enough. The hindquarters and tails of the last of the rogues were just vanishing into the gorse tunnel.
Launching himself down the steep side of the ravine, with Cloudpaw scrabbling down behind him, Fireheart let out a yowl. “ThunderClan! Enemies! Attack!” He hurled himself into the tunnel and at the same moment he heard another yowl from the camp ahead.
“To me, ThunderClan!”
It was the familiar battle cry, but the voice was Tigerclaw’s. A thought flickered into Fireheart’s shocked mind: What if he had made a mistake? What if the rogues had been chasing Tigerclaw, not following him?
He burst into the clearing just as Tigerclaw whirled on the band of rogues, who scattered, yowling, from his attack. The deputy certainly looked as if he were trying to drive enemies from the camp, but Fireheart was close enough to see that his claws were sheathed. His heart plummeted. Tigerclaw’s brave defense was all a sham. He had brought these enemy cats here, but he was cunning enough to conceal his own treachery.
There was no time for any more thought. However they had come here, the rogue cats were now attacking the camp. Fireheart turned swiftly to Cloudpaw.
“Go and find the patrols and tell them to come back,” he ordered. “Whitestorm is somewhere along the RiverClan boundary, and Sandstorm went to Snakerocks.”
“Yes, Fireheart.” Cloudpaw raced back into the tunnel.
Fireheart sprang at the nearest rogue, a dark mottled tabby, and raked his claws down his side. The rogue snarled and twisted toward him, paws splayed for attack. He tried to pin Fireheart down; Fireheart’s hindpaws pummeled his belly, and the rogue broke away howling.
Fireheart scrambled to his paws and crouched with tail lashing and fur bristling as he looked around for another enemy. Outside the entrance to the nursery, Graystripe was wrestling a rogue with a pale coat, the two of them rolling over and over as they tried to get hold with teeth and
claws. Brindleface and Speckletail were fighting against a warrior twice their size. Near the warriors’ den, Mousefur dug her front claws into the shoulder of a huge tabby, while her back claws shredded his flank.
Then Fireheart froze with shock. At the other side of the clearing, Brokentail had pounced on his guard, Dustpelt, fastening his teeth in the younger cat’s throat. Dustpelt was struggling furiously to free himself. Though Brokentail was blind, he was still a formidable fighter, and he hung on. Fireheart realized with dread that he was fighting on the side of his old rogue companions, the cats who had left ShadowClan with him—not for ThunderClan, who had risked so much to defend him when he was injured and alone.
A tiny picture flashed into Fireheart’s mind, of Tigerclaw and Brokentail lying side by side, sharing tongues. That had not been evidence of the deputy’s compassion. Tigerclaw had been planning this with the former ShadowClan tyrant!
There was no time to think about that now. Fireheart plunged across the clearing to help Dustpelt, but before he got halfway he was bowled over by a rogue cat. His flank stung as claws raked down it. Green eyes glared a mouse-length from his own. Fireheart bared his fangs and tried to bite down into the enemy’s shoulder, but the rogue cat batted him away. Claws ripped into his ear. His belly was exposed and he couldn’t twist free. Suddenly his attacker let out a wail and released him. Fireheart caught a glimpse of the young apprentice Thornpaw with his teeth fastened into the rogue’s tail; the rogue dragged him through the dust until Thornpaw released him and the enemy fled.
Panting, Fireheart scrambled to his paws. “Thanks,” he gasped. “Well done.”
Thornpaw nodded briefly before racing off to where Graystripe still battled in front of the nursery. Fireheart looked around again. Dustpelt had vanished and Brokentail was stumbling farther into the clearing, letting out a weird wailing that struck a chill into Fireheart’s heart. Even blind, the former ShadowClan leader possessed a terrifying power that seemed driven by something more than mortal.
