“Cloudkit!”
Fireheart heard Brindleface calling from inside the nursery. Tigerclaw turned and padded away. Cloudkit gave the moss ball a final shove and ran over to the nursery entrance. “’Bye, Fireheart,” he mewed before he disappeared inside.
Fireheart looked up at the sky. It was almost sunhigh, time to join his patrol. He was hungry, but no fresh-kill had been gathered yet. Perhaps he might find something while they were out. He hurried across the clearing and out through the gorse tunnel, frozen leaves crunching beneath his paws.
Sandpaw and Mousefur were already waiting at the foot of the slope. Fireheart raised his tail in greeting, unexpectedly happy to see Sandpaw.
“Hi,” meowed Sandpaw. Mousefur nodded to him.
Whitestorm emerged from the gorse tunnel. “Is the dawn patrol back yet?”
“No sign of them,” answered Mousefur. But as she spoke, Fireheart heard the rustle of undergrowth above them. Out of the bushes came Willowpelt, Runningwind, Darkstripe, and Dustpaw.
“We’ve patrolled the entire RiverClan border,” Willowpelt reported. “No sign of any hunting parties so far. Bluestar’s patrol will check the area again this afternoon.”
“Good,” replied Whitestorm. “We’ll take the ShadowClan border.”
“Hopefully they’ll have the same good sense as RiverClan and stay away,” meowed Darkstripe. “After last night, they must know we’ll be looking out for them.”
“I hope so,” growled Whitestorm. He turned to his patrol. “Are you ready?” Fireheart nodded. Whitestorm flicked the tip of his tail and leaped away into the bracken.
Fireheart followed Mousefur and Whitestorm. They kept up a fast pace as they climbed out of the ravine. Sandpaw was right behind Fireheart; he could feel her warm breath as she scrambled up the boulders.
They had not even reached Snakerocks when Fireheart picked up a sinister, familiar scent. He opened his mouth to warn the others but Mousefur spoke first. “ShadowClan!”
The four cats stopped to smell the rank stench.
“I can’t believe they’ve come back already!” Sandpaw murmured. Fireheart noticed the fur quiver along her spine.
“The scent is recent.” Whitestorm’s eyes glittered with fury. “I had hoped Nightstar might bring some honor to his Clan. But I suppose the cold winds beyond the Thunderpath blow over every ShadowClan cat’s heart.”
Fireheart turned away and began pushing his way into a thick patch of bracken. He rubbed his teeth along the fronds to pick up the scent that hung there. It was ShadowClan all right. The smell was familiar. Very familiar. Fireheart paused. The scent belonged to a ShadowClan warrior he had encountered before, but which one?
Fireheart pushed onward, hoping more scent-markings might jog his memory. Now he could smell something else. Fireheart looked down. On the ground, among the bracken stems, lay a pile of rabbit bones. Clan cats normally buried the bones of their prey as a sign of respect for the life they had taken. Suddenly aware of what this might mean, Fireheart picked up a mouthful and wove back through the bracken. He dropped them at Whitestorm’s paws.
Whitestorm stared at the bones in fury. “Rabbit bones? The warriors who left these want us to know they’ve been hunting on our land! Bluestar must know about this immediately.”
“Will she send a battle party against ShadowClan?” asked Fireheart. He had never seen Whitestorm so angry.
“She should!” hissed the great white warrior. “And I’ll lead it myself if I can. Nightstar has betrayed our trust, and StarClan knows he must be punished.”
“Bluestar!” Whitestorm flung the rabbit bones down in the middle of the camp clearing.
“Bluestar has already left on patrol,” Tigerclaw told him, stepping out from the shadows.
Halftail and Frostfur came hurrying from their dens to find out what was going on.
Whitestorm stared at Tigerclaw, still furious. “Look at these!” he spat.
Tigerclaw didn’t need to be told what they meant; their scent carried the whole story. His eyes began to burn with anger.
Fireheart hung back at the edge of the clearing and watched the two great warriors. The evidence was certainly ominous, but the discovery of the bones had filled his mind with questions, not anger. It was only three moons since ShadowClan had driven out their cruel leader, with the help of ThunderClan. How could that same Clan possibly be ready to risk war with ThunderClan?
Tigerclaw clearly had no such doubts. Already he was calling Darkstripe and Runningwind to him. “Willowpelt and Mousefur will join us too!” he announced. “We’ll find a ShadowClan patrol and leave them with some wounds that’ll remind them to keep out of our territory in the future.”
Whitestorm nodded.
“Can I come?” Sandpaw meowed. She had been pacing excitedly behind the white warrior. Now she stopped and looked at him with glittering eyes.
“Not this time,” Whitestorm told her.
Frustration flickered across her face. “But what about Fireheart?” she meowed. “He found the bones.”
Tigerclaw narrowed his eyes, his hackles raised. “Fireheart can stay here and tell Bluestar when she arrives,” he hissed contemptuously.
“You’re going to leave before she gets back?” Fireheart asked.
“Of course,” Tigerclaw spat. “This needs to be settled now!” He turned to Whitestorm and flicked his tail. Fireheart watched as the two warriors charged out of the camp, Darkstripe, Willowpelt, Runningwind, and Mousefur close behind. He could hear their paws pounding the frozen earth as they headed for the side of the ravine.
Fireheart was suddenly aware how empty the camp was. As Frostfur and Halftail came forward and began sniffing the rabbit bones, he meowed, “Who went with Bluestar?”
Frostfur looked up. “Graystripe, Longtail, and Swiftpaw.”
A cold wind ruffled Fireheart’s fur. He hoped that was what made him shiver. He was the only warrior left in camp. “Will you check the apprentices’ den to see if Dustpaw’s there?” Fireheart asked Sandpaw.
She nodded, bounded across the clearing, and poked her head into the den. “He’s there,” she called back, ducking out again. “Asleep, with Brackenpaw.”
Yellowfang came padding out of her den and lifted her head. Fireheart relaxed a little at the familiar sight of the old medicine cat. He narrowed his eyes, ready to greet her. But as Yellowfang tasted the air, her eyes clouded with fear. With slow, stiff steps, she approached the rabbit bones and carefully sniffed each one.
Fireheart watched her, wondering why she was so interested in the old bones.
At last she looked up and stared into Fireheart’s eyes. “Brokenstar!” she rasped, in a voice choked with horror.
“Brokenstar?” Fireheart echoed. Then it hit him. That was why the scent in the bracken had been so familiar. It was Brokenstar’s scent. “Are you sure?” he meowed urgently. “Tigerclaw has already left for ShadowClan territory.”
“ShadowClan isn’t to blame for this!” cried Yellowfang. “This is Brokenstar and his old warrior friends. I was ShadowClan’s medicine cat. I was there at their kitting. I know their scents as well as I know my own.” She paused. “You must find Tigerclaw and stop him. He will be making a terrible mistake if he attacks them!”
The blood roared in Fireheart’s ears, making him dizzy. What should he do? “But I’m the only warrior left!” he meowed breathlessly to Yellowfang. “What if Brokenstar attacks the camp while I’m gone? He’s done it before. He might have left the bones as a trap so that our camp was left unguarded.”
“You must tell Tigerclaw before he—” Yellowfang pleaded, but Fireheart shook his head.
“I can’t leave you all alone.”
“Then I shall go!” Yellowfang hissed.
“No! I’ll go!” meowed Sandpaw.
Fireheart looked from one cat to the other. He couldn’t afford to send either—their strength and training were needed here to protect the Clan. But Yellowfang was right; innocent blood couldn’t be shed. Brokenstar was the invader here; ThunderClan had no quarrel with ShadowClan. He would have to send another cat. He closed his eyes and thought hard. The answer came in a moment. “Brackenpaw!” Fireheart hissed, opening his eyes wide. He called the apprentice’s name out loud.
The young cat pushed his way out of his den and padded across the clearing toward Fireheart. “What is it?” he asked, blinking the sleep from his eyes.
“I have an urgent mission for you,” Fireheart told him.
Brackenpaw shook himself and stood taller. “Yes, Fireheart,” he mewed.
“You must find Tigerclaw. He’s taken a raiding party to attack a ShadowClan patrol. Stop him and tell him that it was Brokenstar who has been invading our territory!” Brackenpaw’s eyes widened with alarm, but Fireheart went on: “You might have to cross the Thunderpath. I know you haven’t been trained. . . .” Images of Cinderpaw’s broken body flashed in Fireheart’s mind, but he forced them away. He looked deep into Brackenpaw’s eyes. “You must find Tigerclaw,” he repeated, “or there will be a war between the Clans for no reason!”
Brackenpaw nodded, his eyes calm and filled with purpose. “I’ll find him,” the tabby apprentice promised.
“May StarClan go with you,” Fireheart murmured, reaching forward to touch Brackenpaw’s flank with his nose.
Brackenpaw turned and sprinted out through the gorse tunnel. Fireheart watched him go, struggling to keep calm. Cinderpaw . . . the Thunderpath . . . the images kept flashing back. Fireheart shook his head to clear it. There was no time to worry now. If Brokenstar was in ThunderClan territory, the camp had to prepare for an attack.
“What’s happening?” Dustpaw had emerged from the apprentices’ den. Fireheart glanced at him, ran to the head of the clearing, and scrambled up onto the Highrock. The clearing seemed a long way below his trembling legs. He swallowed hard and began the customary call. “Let all cats old enough to . . .” But the words were taking too long! “The camp is in danger. Come here now!” he yowled urgently.
The elders and queens rushed from their dens, followed by their kits. They looked bewildered when they saw Fireheart on top of the Highrock. Cinderpaw limped out of the fern tunnel and looked up at Fireheart with a strong, bright gaze. When Fireheart saw her, the camp suddenly stopped swaying beneath him.
“What’s going on?” demanded One-eye, the oldest ThunderClan cat. “What do you think you’re doing up there?”
Fireheart didn’t hesitate. “Brokenstar is back. He might be in ThunderClan territory right now. All our other warriors are out of the camp. If Brokenstar attacks, we must be ready. Kits and elders stay in the nursery. The rest of you must be ready to fight—”
A menacing yowl from the camp entrance cut short Fireheart’s speech. A lean dark brown tabby with matted fur and torn ears strode into the camp. His bristling tail was bent in the middle like a broken branch.
“Brokenstar!” Fireheart gasped, instinctively unsheathing his claws as every hair on his body stood on end.
Four mangy warriors prowled in behind their leader, their eyes glittering with hatred.
“So you’re the only warrior left!” Brokenstar hissed, his lips drawn back in a snarl. “This will be easier than I thought!”