Chapter 23
Firepaw could tell there were several cats in the patrol, traveling fast. He couldn’t recognize the individual scents of the cats through the earthy bog odors, but he knew it was ThunderClan. He held his breath as the pawsteps raced past and away.
“Are we really going to try to rescue the kits from ShadowClan alone?” whispered Graypaw.
Yellowfang answered him first. “I might be able to find us some help from inside ShadowClan. Not all the cats support Brokenstar.”
Firepaw pricked up his ears and Graypaw flicked his tail in surprise.
“When he became leader,” Yellowfang explained, “Brokenstar forced the elders to leave the security of the inner camp. They had to live on the boundary and hunt for themselves. These are cats who have grown up with the warrior code. Some of them might help us.”
Firepaw stared into her old eyes, thinking quickly. “And I might be able to persuade the ThunderClan hunting party to help us too,” he meowed. “If I can speak to them before they see Yellowfang, I might be able to make them believe her story. Graypaw, you wait at the dead ash, where we smelled the kit blood, till one of us returns.”
Graypaw looked worried. “But do you really trust Yellowfang to bring back help?” he murmured to Firepaw.
“You must trust me,” growled Yellowfang. “I will return.”
Graypaw looked at Firepaw, who nodded.
Without another word Yellowfang sprang past the two apprentices and disappeared into the bushes.
“Have we done the right thing?” asked Graypaw.
“I don’t know,” Firepaw admitted. “If we have, we are heroes and the kits are safe. If we are wrong, then we are as good as dead.”
Firepaw sprinted after the patrol, around brambles, past gorse, and through nettles. The trail was easy to follow. The angry ThunderClan cats weren’t trying to disguise their presence in ShadowClan’s territory.
Overhead, the thick layer of cloud had finally rolled away. Beyond the treetops, Silverpelt glittered across the night sky. The moon was just rising, but its cold light couldn’t pierce the mist that clung to the shadowy undergrowth.
Firepaw concentrated on the scent from up ahead. He could smell Whitestorm. He sniffed again. Tigerclaw wasn’t with them. He raced to catch up and skidded to a halt behind the band of ThunderClan cats.
The warriors turned and glared at him, fur bristling, ears flattened aggressively. Darkstripe was with them and the young she-cat Mousefur, as well as the tabby warrior Runningwind. Mousefur wasn’t the only she-cat in the patrol—Willowpelt was there too.
“Firepaw!” growled Whitestorm. “What are you doing here?”
Firepaw gasped for breath. “Bluestar sent me!” he panted. “She wanted me to find Yellowfang before—”
Whitestorm interrupted him. “Ah!” he meowed. “Bluestar told me I might find a friend out here. Now I understand what she meant.” He looked thoughtfully at Firepaw.
“Is Tigerclaw nearby?” Firepaw asked, feeling a tingle of pride at their shared gaze.
Whitestorm looked at him curiously. “Bluestar insisted she needed him to remain at camp, to protect the remaining kits.”
Firepaw nodded quickly, relieved. He meowed urgently, “Whitestorm, I need your help. I can lead you to the kits. Graypaw is waiting for me. We plan to rescue them tonight. Will you come?”
“Of course we’ll come!” The warriors flicked their tails with excitement.
“It will mean raiding the ShadowClan camp,” Firepaw warned.
“Can you lead us there?” asked Runningwind eagerly.
“No, but Yellowfang can. And she has promised to bring help from her old allies in the camp.”
Mousefur glared at him and thrashed her tail angrily. “You have found Yellowfang?” she hissed.
“I don’t understand,” meowed Whitestorm, puzzled. “The traitor is going to help rescue the kits she stole?”
Firepaw took a deep breath to calm himself, then looked steadily into Whitestorm’s eyes. “Yellowfang didn’t take them,” he meowed. “Nor did she murder Spottedleaf. She wants to help us rescue our kits.”
Whitestorm stared back at him, then blinked slowly. “Lead the way, Firepaw,” he ordered.
Graypaw was waiting by the ash tree, pacing restlessly around its rotten trunk. He stopped as soon as he saw the patrol emerge from the mist and twitched his whiskers in greeting.
“Any sign of Yellowfang?” Firepaw asked.
“Not yet,” answered Graypaw.
“We don’t know how far it is to the ShadowClan camp,” Firepaw pointed out quickly, feeling Whitestorm stiffen beside him. “She may be on her way back right now.”
“Or she might be happily sharing tongues with her ShadowClan comrades while we sit here like fools waiting to be ambushed!” meowed Graypaw.
Whitestorm watched the two apprentices. His ears flicked uneasily. “Firepaw?” he prompted.
“She will come back,” Firepaw promised.
“Well said, young Firepaw.” Yellowfang stalked out from behind the ash tree and sat down. “You’re not the only one who can sneak up on someone,” she meowed at Firepaw. “Remember the day we met? You were looking in the wrong direction that time too.”
Three other ShadowClan cats appeared from behind the tree and settled themselves calmly on either side of Yellowfang. The ThunderClan cats bristled, alert and suspicious.
Both Clans stared silently at each other. Firepaw fidgeted uncomfortably, unsure what to do now. Eventually one of the ShadowClan cats, a gray tom, spoke. His long body was skinny, and his fur looked dull. “We have come to help you, not to harm you. You have come for your kits; we will help you rescue them.”
“What’s in it for you?” asked Whitestorm warily.
“We want your help to get rid of Brokenstar. He has broken the warrior code, and ShadowClan is suffering.”
“So it’s that simple, is it?” growled Runningwind. “We just drop into your camp, snatch the kits, kill your leader, and go home.”
“You will not meet as much resistance as you think,” murmured the gray tom.
Yellowfang stood up. “Let me introduce my old friends,” she meowed, weaving her way around the ShadowClan cats. She brushed past the gray tom. “This is Ashfur; he is one of the Clan elders.
“And this is Nightpelt, a senior warrior before Raggedstar was killed.” She circled a battered black tom, who nodded at them.
“And this is one of our elder queens, Dawncloud. Two of her kits died driving out WindClan.”
Dawncloud, a small tabby, meowed in greeting. “I do not wish to lose any more of my kits,” she told them.
Whitestorm gave his chest a quick lick to smooth down his fur. “You are clearly skilled warriors if you managed to creep up on us like that. But are there enough of you? We need to know what we’ll face when we raid the ShadowClan camp.”
“The old and sick of ShadowClan are slowly starving,” meowed Ashfur. “The casualties among our kits are more than we can cope with.”
“But if ShadowClan is a mess,” burst out Darkstripe, “how come you have shown so much strength lately? And why is Brokenstar still your leader?”
“Brokenstar is surrounded by a small group of elite warriors,” answered Ashfur. “They are the ones to fear, because they would die for him without question. The other warriors obey his orders only because they are frightened. They will fight by his side as long as they think Brokenstar is going to win. If they thought he would lose…”