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Sandstorm gave him a suspicious look. “Depends what it is.”
“Go to Bluestar’s den and deal with what you find there. Better take another warrior too—Brackenfur, will you go? Bluestar will tell you what to do.”
At least, I hope so, Fireheart added to himself as Sandstorm, still frowning, jerked her head at Brackenfur and headed for the Highrock. Out of everything that had happened, what disturbed Fireheart most was how Bluestar seemed to have lost her will to lead her Clan.
Fireheart stood numbly in the center of the clearing, watching as Yellowfang examined Brokentail and then began half pushing, half dragging him toward her den. The former ShadowClan leader was barely conscious, and a trickle of blood ran from the corner of his mouth. She obviously still cares for him, Fireheart thought in confusion. Even after all this, she can’t forget he was once her kit.
Turning away from Yellowfang, Fireheart saw Sandstorm emerging from the den beneath the Highrock. She was followed by Tigerclaw, who struggled forward with an odd, lurching gait. His fur was matted with dust and blood, and one eye was half closed. He stumbled to a halt and collapsed in front of the rock.
Brackenfur trailed him closely, alert for any sign that the deputy intended to attack or flee. Behind him came Bluestar. Her head was drooping and her tail dragged in the dust. Fireheart’s worst fears flooded back. The strong leader Fireheart had respected seemed to have vanished, leaving instead this frail, wounded cat.
Last of all, Graystripe limped out of the den and sank down on his side in the shade of the Highrock. Cinderpaw hurried over to him and began to inspect his wounds with an anxious frown.
Bluestar raised her head and looked around. “Come here, all of you,” she rasped, beckoning with a flick of her tail. While the rest of the Clan were gathering, Fireheart padded over to Cinderpaw. “Can you give Tigerclaw anything for his wounds?” he asked. “Something to ease the pain?” He thought he had wanted to defeat Tigerclaw more than anything, but now he found he could not bear the sight of the once-great warrior bleeding to death in the dust.
Cinderpaw looked up from her examination of Graystripe. To Fireheart’s relief, she didn’t challenge his request for her to treat the treacherous deputy. “Sure,” she meowed. “I’ll fetch something for Graystripe as well.” She limped away in the direction of Yellowfang’s den.
The Clan cats had taken their places by the time she returned. Fireheart could see them looking at one another, uneasily wondering what all this might mean.
Cinderpaw limped over with a wad of herbs in her mouth. She dropped some of them beside Tigerclaw, and gave the rest to Graystripe. The deputy sniffed the leaves suspiciously and then began to chew them.
Bluestar watched him for a moment and then began to speak. “I present you with Tigerclaw, now a prisoner. He—”
A chorus of worried murmurs interrupted her. The Clan cats were looking at each other in shock and dismay. Fireheart could see they did not understand what was happening.
“A prisoner?” Darkstripe echoed. “Tigerclaw’s your deputy. What has he done?”
“I’ll tell you.” Bluestar’s voice sounded more even now, but Fireheart could see the effort it was costing her. “Just now, in my den, Tigerclaw attacked me. He would have killed me if Fireheart hadn’t arrived in time.”
The sounds of protest and disbelief swelled even louder. From the back of the crowd, an elder let out an eerie wailing. Darkstripe got to his paws. He was one of Tigerclaw’s strongest supporters, Fireheart knew, but even he was looking uncertain. “There must be some mistake,” he blustered.
Bluestar raised her chin. “Do you think I can’t tell when a cat tries to murder me?” she enquired dryly.
“But Tigerclaw—”
Fireheart sprang up. “Tigerclaw is a traitor to the Clan!” he spat. “He brought the rogue cats here today.”
Darkstripe rounded on him. “He’d never have done that. Prove it, kittypet!”
Fireheart glanced at Bluestar. She nodded and beckoned him forward. “Fireheart, tell the Clan what you know. Everything.”
Fireheart padded slowly to her side. Now that the moment for revealing everything had come, he felt strangely reluctant. It was as though he were pulling down the Highrock, and nothing would ever be the same again. “Cats of ThunderClan,” he began. His voice squeaked like a kit’s, and he paused to control it. “Cats of ThunderClan, do you remember when Redtail died? Tigerclaw told you that Oakheart killed him, but he was lying. It was Tigerclaw who killed Redtail!”
“How do you know?” That was Longtail, with the usual sneer on his face. “You weren’t at the battle.”
“I know because I talked to someone who was,” Fireheart replied steadily. “Ravenpaw told me.”
“Oh, very useful!” growled Darkstripe. “Ravenpaw’s dead. You can tell us he said anything, and nobody can prove you wrong.”
Fireheart hesitated. He had kept the truth about Ravenpaw’s escape a secret to protect him from Tigerclaw, but now that Tigerclaw was a prisoner, there could be no more danger. And he needed to reveal everything. “Ravenpaw isn’t dead,” he explained quietly. “I took him away after Tigerclaw tried to kill him for knowing too much.”
More uproar, as each cat yowled their questions and protests. While Fireheart waited for them to settle down again, he glanced at Tigerclaw. As Cinderpaw’s herbs did their healing work, the huge tabby had begun to recover some of his strength. He pushed himself onto his haunches and sat staring out over the crowd with eyes like stones, as if he were challenging any cat to come too close. The news about Ravenpaw must have shocked him, but he did not show it by a single twitch of his whiskers.
When the turmoil showed no sign of dying down, Whitestorm raised his voice. “Quiet! Let Fireheart speak.”
Fireheart dipped his head in thanks to the older warrior. “Ravenpaw told me that Oakheart died when rocks fell on him. Redtail fled from the rockfall, and ran straight into Tigerclaw. Tigerclaw pounced on him and killed him.”
“It’s true.” Graystripe raised his head from where he still lay in the shade, with Cinderpaw pressing herbs to his wounds. “I was there when Ravenpaw told Fireheart all this.”
“And I’ve spoken to cats from RiverClan,” Fireheart added. “They tell the same story, that Oakheart died in a rockfall.”
Firehe
art expected more noise then, but it never came. An eerie hush had fallen on the Clan. Cats were staring at one another as if they could find a reason for these terrible revelations in the faces of their friends.
“Tigerclaw expected to be made deputy then,” Fireheart went on. “But Bluestar chose Lionheart instead. Then Lionheart died fighting ShadowClan, and at last Tigerclaw achieved his ambition. But being deputy wasn’t enough for him. I…I think that he even laid a trap for Bluestar beside the Thunderpath, but Cinderpaw was caught in it instead.” He glanced at Cinderpaw as he spoke, to see her eyes widen and her jaws open in a gasp of surprise.
Bluestar too looked astonished. “Fireheart told me his suspicions,” she murmured. Her voice shook. “I didn’t—I couldn’t—believe him. I trusted Tigerclaw.” She bowed her head. “I was wrong.”
“But how could he expect to be made leader if he killed you?” asked Mousefur. “The Clan would never support him.”
“I think that’s why he planned this attack the way he did,” Fireheart ventured. “I guess he meant us to think that one of the outlaws killed Bluestar. After all”—Fireheart’s voice grew hard—“who would expect Tigerclaw, the loyal deputy, to lay a claw on his leader?” He fell silent. His whole body was quivering and he felt as limp as a newborn kit.
“Bluestar,” Whitestorm spoke up. “What will happen to Tigerclaw now?”
His question set off a crescendo of furious yowling from the Clan.
“Kill him!”
“Blind him!”
“Drive him out of the forest!”
Bluestar sat motionless, her eyes closed. Fireheart could feel the pain coming off her in waves, the bitter shock of betrayal as she discovered that the deputy she had trusted for so long was black at heart. “Tigerclaw,” she meowed at last, “have you anything to say in your defense?”
