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  Brambleclaw stared at his father. He had fought to help his Clanmates, not because it had been one more step towards power! Yet he couldn’t help feeling a twinge of satisfaction. Firestar trusted him with important duties; the Clan leader must feel he would be a good choice of deputy.

  “I still haven’t had an apprentice,” he reminded Tigerstar. “And Firestar won’t choose another deputy until he’s sure Greystripe is dead.”

  “Then you need to delay his decision for as long as possible, so that you have time to be given an apprentice,” Tigerstar meowed. “How are you going to do that? Hawkfrost, what do you think?”

  “Encourage him to think Greystripe is alive,” Hawkfrost suggested. “It can’t be true, of course, but it’s what Firestar wants to believe, so it shouldn’t be too hard to convince him.”

  Brambleclaw didn’t like the idea of manipulating his Clan leader like that, not when he knew how much Greystripe meant to Firestar. But he couldn’t deny the sense of Hawkfrost’s advice. The longer Firestar clung to the belief that Greystripe would return, the better Brambleclaw’s chances of getting an apprentice before Firestar finally appointed a new deputy.

  Tigerstar gave Hawkfrost an approving nod; then his gaze swivelled once more to Brambleclaw. “What else?”

  “Er . . . make sure I take care of the deputy duties,” Brambleclaw meowed. “That’ll make a good impression on Firestar, and at the same time make him feel it’s not urgent to choose a new deputy yet.”

  “And?”

  Brambleclaw cast about wildly in his mind. It was like trying to pin down a piece of prey without the help of sound or scent.

  “Make friends with those kits of Daisy’s,” Hawkfrost mewed, giving Brambleclaw a flick with his tail. “They’ll be the next apprentices, won’t they? If one of them asks for you as his mentor, you’re all set.”

  “Sure,” Brambleclaw meowed. “I can do that. They’re good kits, even if their mother isn’t Clanborn.”

  I’d like to mentor Berrykit, he decided. He could see the makings of a good warrior in the sturdy, adventurous little tom. But what would Tigerstar think of a kit that wasn’t Clanborn?

  “Do you think it matters that their mother came from the horseplace?” Brambleclaw ventured. He remembered tales of how Tigerstar had ordered the murder of halfClan cats when he had taken control of RiverClan and ShadowClan. Were the stories not true, or had his father changed his mind since then?

  “Their mother should go back where she came from,” Tigerstar growled. “She’ll never be any use to the Clan. But the kits may do well enough, if they’re properly trained.”

  Hawkfrost’s whiskers twitched. “Don’t forget that my mother wasn’t Clanborn, either. RiverClan won’t forget it, that’s for sure, but it doesn’t make me weak or stupid.”

  Tigerstar gave his son a curt nod. “Your mother was a rogue, but dedicate yourself to the warrior code, and you will be as good as any of those who despise you. I became leader of a Clan where I did not belong by birth. And Daisy’s kits are too young to remember anything but being part of ThunderClan.” He paused, then added, “Being Clanborn is important, but we all work with what we’re given on the path towards power.”

  “So even a kittypet like Firestar—” Brambleclaw began.

  Tigerstar let out a furious hiss. “Firestar will never lose his filthy kittypet scent!” he snarled. “It only weakens him. Look at the way he let that whining horseplace cat stay. Her kits may grow up more Clan than kittypet, but she will never be any use as a warrior. And now he has welcomed that RiverClan cat who abandoned his Clan, not to mention his mate, who belongs to no Clan and never will.”

  “Do you mean Stormfur?” Hawkfrost’s ears pricked. “Stormfur is back?”

  Brambleclaw nodded. “He and Brook turned up just as we drove out the last of the badgers. They stayed to help us recover, but I expect they’ll leave for RiverClan soon.”

  Hawkfrost’s eyes narrowed, and Brambleclaw wondered what he was thinking. He wished that Tigerstar hadn’t revealed the news about Stormfur’s return. He had a sudden impulse to warn Stormfur, yet he couldn’t figure out why he felt there might be a threat from Hawkfrost. Besides, he couldn’t tell any cat in ThunderClan about these nocturnal meetings.

  A powerful blow to his side jerked him back to the shadowy clearing. His paws skidded out from under him and he crashed to the ground. Tigerstar’s massive paws held him down and his yellow eyes glared at him furiously.

  “Always keep watch!” he spat. “An attack can come at any time. How can you protect your Clan if you forget that?”

  Still winded, Brambleclaw scrabbled at Tigerstar’s belly with his hind paws. He heaved himself upward, dislodging his father’s weight. Tigerstar’s paw flashed out, aiming for his ear, but Brambleclaw dodged the blow. Scrambling to his feet, he hurled himself at his father, charging into his muscular shoulder. Tigerstar staggered but kept his balance, darting to one side and attacking Brambleclaw again with teeth bared and claws unsheathed. Brambleclaw ducked under the flashing claws and tried to fasten his teeth in Tigerstar’s neck. Tigerstar tore free of him and took a pace back.

  Brambleclaw gasped for breath. This fight was fiercer than a normal training session, where claws would be sheathed. In the skirmish the wound on his shoulder had torn open again. He could feel blood trickling into his fur, and pain made him hiss through his teeth when he tried to put his paw to the ground.

  “You should move faster!” Tigerstar snarled, leaping for him again.

  This time Hawkfrost sprang between them, letting out a screech as he scored his claws down Tigerstar’s flank. Tigerstar leaped at him, and the two tomcats rolled over in a furious tangle of legs and thrashing tails. Hawkfrost fought as fiercely as if every badger in the world were attacking him, giving Brambleclaw a chance to recover. When the two cats broke apart at last, even Tigerstar was breathless.

  “Enough,” he panted. “We will meet again tomorrow night.” His amber stare fixed on Brambleclaw. “Before then, speak to those horseplace kits and gain their trust. If you can make one of them want to be your apprentice, your path to becoming deputy will be clearer.”

  In spite of his wounded shoulder, Brambleclaw bounded back through the forest as though his paws were carried on the wind. Tigerstar had given him nothing but good advice. If he befriended Berrykit and took responsibility for the duties of a Clan deputy, he would still be serving ThunderClan well. His meetings with Tigerstar would make him a better warrior, more loyal to his Clan, with the skills he needed to make him an effective leader.

  He woke in the warriors’ den to feel a throbbing ache running from his right ear to his belly. Twisting his neck, he saw that the fur on his shoulder was dark and matted with blood. A cold claw seemed to trail down his spine. He had been dreaming when he fought with Tigerstar. Why should the wound open up again? And why did he feel so tired, as if he hadn’t slept at all?

  As Brambleclaw rasped his tongue over the injury, Squirrelflight, who was curled up beside him, raised her head. His movement and the sharp scent of fresh blood had woken her.

  “What have you done?” she gasped, her eyes wide.

  “I . . . I’m not sure.” Brambleclaw knew he couldn’t tell Squirrelflight, of all cats, about his visits to Tigerstar. Especially not now that she trusted him again. “I must have caught it on a branch while I was asleep.”

  “Careless furball.” Squirrelflight gave him a sympathetic flick with her tail. “You’d better see Leafpool and get some cobwebs.”

  Brambleclaw glanced around. Dawn light was filtering through the branches of the thorn tree, and the other cats were beginning to stir. “Is anyone leading the dawn patrol?”

  “I am.” Dustpelt spoke through an enormous yawn. He rose to his paws and arched his back in a long stretch. “Cloudtail and Thornclaw are coming with me.” He prodded the sleeping Cloudtail with one paw. “Come on, wake up. What do you think you are, a dormouse?”

  “It’s just as well you’re
not going, if that shoulder’s giving you trouble,” Squirrelflight meowed.

  “It’ll be fine,” Brambleclaw replied tensely. “Why don’t we go hunting instead?”

  Squirrelflight gave him a long look from narrowed green eyes. “OK,” she agreed. “But after you’ve seen Leafpool.”

  Relieved to escape any more questions, Brambleclaw slid out between the branches and headed for Leafpool’s den. His head spun with exhaustion and his paws felt as if they were made of stone. Instead of hunting, what he longed to do was curl up in his nest and go back to sleep.

  When he reached her den, the young medicine cat was checking on Birchpaw, who was still curled up behind the bramble screen. As soon as Brambleclaw appeared, she fetched him a pawful of cobwebs to stop his wound from bleeding any more.

  “Any cat would think you’d been fighting again,” she remarked as she patted them into place.

  For one frantic heartbeat Brambleclaw wondered if Leafpool could possibly know about the meetings in the dark forest.

  “I don’t know how I did it,” he mewed evasively. “Is it OK if I go hunting?”

  “Well . . .” Leafpool hesitated, then nodded. “Just don’t overdo it, and come back if the bleeding starts again.”

  Promising that he would, Brambleclaw went back into the clearing. Squirrelflight was waiting for him near the warriors’ den, along with Stormfur and Brook. Brambleclaw’s spirits rose at the thought of hunting with his old friend. If Stormfur was going to leave ThunderClan soon there might not be many more chances to spend time together.

  “Hi,” Stormfur meowed. “Squirrelflight says you must have been fighting badgers in your sleep.”

  Brambleclaw winced. Squirrelflight’s theory came a bit too close to the truth.

  Squirrelflight took the lead as they headed out of the camp. By now the thorn barrier was almost as thick as ever, with a tunnel leading through it into the forest. As Squirrelflight approached, Ashfur appeared in the entrance with a bundle of moss in his jaws.

  “Hi there,” Squirrelflight mewed.

  Ashfur swept a freezing glance over her, ignored Brambleclaw entirely, and stalked away, carrying his moss to the elders.

  “I tried to explain . . .” Squirrelflight insisted helplessly. “I keep on trying, but he just won’t listen. I don’t see why we can’t be friends.”

  Brambleclaw doubted that Ashfur would ever be comfortable just being friends with Squirrelflight, but he didn’t say so out loud. Gently he touched his nose to her muzzle. “You did your best. Come on, let’s hunt.”

  When they left the camp the forest was damp and misty, full of the sharp scent of new leaves. As the sun rose, the mist thinned to trailing wisps that clung to the lowest branches; above them, the trees cast long shadows, and dew glittered on every cobweb and blade of grass. Some of Brambleclaw’s exhaustion vanished as he paused for a moment to let the warmth soak into his fur.

  Movement flickered in the corner of his eye. He spun around to see a mouse scuttling across an open space; before it reached the shelter of the bushes Brook sprang after it and killed it with a sharp blow of her paw.

  “Great catch!” he exclaimed. “You’re getting really good at hunting among trees.”

  Brook twitched her tail. “It’s a bit strange, after the mountains,” she confessed. “But I’m starting to get the hang of it.”

  In the Tribe of Rushing Water, where Brook had been raised, duties were organised differently: instead of being warriors, cats were either prey-hunters, responsible for gathering fresh-kill—which involved hunting the swift and sharp-clawed birds that swooped above the rocks—or cave-guards, who protected their Tribemates and defended their home behind the waterfall. Brambleclaw knew that Brook was one of the most skilful of all the prey-hunters. She had taught him and Stormfur how to track mice and voles, not as prey, but as a lure for a bigger, winged piece of fresh-kill.

  Stormfur padded over to join them. “Good work, Brook,” he meowed. “Remember, you won’t catch much in the forest by keeping still and waiting. There are too many places for prey to hide. You need to stalk it instead. See—over there?” He twitched his ears towards a spot where a squirrel was scuffling among the roots of a tree. “Watch this.”

  Keeping low, so that his belly almost brushed the grass, Stormfur crept up on the squirrel, careful to stay downwind. But he was a RiverClan cat, more used to snatching fish out of fast-flowing water, and in the mountains he had pursued his prey over bare rock. He had forgotten how much debris lay on the forest floor. A twig snapped under his paws; alerted, the squirrel sat up. Stormfur let out a hiss of frustration and hurled himself forward, but the squirrel was faster. It scurried nimbly up the tree trunk and sat chittering for a moment on a branch before vanishing into the leaves.

  “Mouse dung!” Stormfur exclaimed.

  Squirrelflight’s tail curled up in amusement. “So, Brook, think of that as a lesson in how not to do it.”

  “Be fair,” Brambleclaw meowed. “Any cat can make a mistake. Stormfur and Brook have already brought back loads of prey.”

  “We were glad to help,” mewed Brook.

  Brambleclaw froze as he spotted a vole slipping through the curled stems of newly growing fern. He twitched his whiskers. “My turn now.”

  Setting each paw down carefully—Squirrelflight would never let him forget it if he snapped a twig—he glided across the grass and killed his prey with a single swipe.

  “Well done!” meowed Stormfur.

  I wish life could always be like this, Brambleclaw thought. Warm sunshine, lots of prey, the company of friends—right now, they meant far more to him than dreams of power. But even as the thought crossed his mind he felt once more the irresistible tug of ambition. He would give anything to be Clan deputy, wouldn’t he? And after that, leader, with responsibility for the whole Clan.

  What do I really want? he wondered, and for once he couldn’t answer.

  The sun was high above the trees when the hunting patrol returned to camp, laden with prey. As he emerged from the thorn tunnel, Brambleclaw saw that the dawn patrol had just got back as well. Dustpelt, Cloudtail, and Thornclaw were standing in the centre of the clearing, with several cats clustered around them: Rainwhisker, Daisy and her kits, Mousefur, and Sandstorm. Firestar was there too, listening to Dustpelt’s report.

  Curiosity clawed at Brambleclaw; he deposited his prey on the fresh-kill pile and padded across to listen.

  “ . . . a couple more fox traps,” Dustpelt was meowing. “One on the WindClan border and another near the old Twoleg nest. We sprang them both.” He nodded to Squirrelflight as she bounded up alongside Brambleclaw. “Your stick idea works well.”

  “And we heard a buzzing noise from the lake,” Thornclaw put in.

  “Buzzing? Was it bees?” asked Rainwhisker.

  Cloudtail’s whiskers twitched. “No, it was much louder than bees. It came from some kind of Twoleg monster. The lake is swarming with them.”

  Brambleclaw’s belly churned. Since the Clans first arrived at the lake they had seen very little sign of Twolegs; now it sounded as if their peace was being invaded again. He was still haunted by the way Twolegs had destroyed the old forest. Could the same thing happen here?

  “What were they doing?” he demanded, shouldering his way to the front to stand beside Firestar.

  “Hurtling across the lake in some kind of water-monster,” Dustpelt replied. “That’s what made the noise. And other Twolegs were floating in things like upturned leaves, with white pelts that caught the wind.”

  “Those are boats,” Daisy mewed. “There’s a boatplace at the far side of the lake from here. Twolegs go there all the time when the weather is warm.”

  “What?” Mousefur’s neck fur began to bristle. “Does that mean we’ll have them bothering us all through greenleaf?”

  “Probably.” Daisy sounded apologetic. “They like sailing in boats, and swimming in the lake.”

  “Twolegs swim for fun?” Sandstorm sniffed. “
How mouse-brained is that?”

  Dustpelt flicked his ears dismissively. “If the boatplace is across the lake, then it’s RiverClan’s and ShadowClan’s problem. With any luck, the Twolegs won’t come this far around the shore.”

  Brambleclaw glanced at Squirrelflight, aware that her green gaze was fixed on him. Did she think he was worrying about Hawkfrost again?

  “All the patrols had better keep watch,” Firestar meowed. “And we can discuss this with all the other Clans at the next Gathering. Don’t forget—a problem for ShadowClan and RiverClan can easily become a problem for us, especially if the other Clans decide it should be.”

  Chapter 7

  All day, anxiety had nagged at Leafpool like a thorn snagging her fur. She couldn’t forget how exhausted Brambleclaw had looked when he came to her for cobwebs to put on his wound. Had he been walking in dreams with Tigerstar again?

  When her duties were done and she settled down in her den to sleep, she tried to send her dreaming paws along Tigerstar’s dark paths. The shadowy forest, with its pale light that didn’t come from moon or stars, terrified her, but she owed it to her Clan to discover what Brambleclaw was doing there. It wasn’t just for the sake of her sister; this must be part of her duty as a medicine cat.

  She opened her eyes to find that tall, leafless trees loomed around her. Whispering shadows flickered between their trunks, and a path lay in front of her, winding between thick clumps of ferns. Her paws falling as lightly as if she were stalking a mouse, she began to follow the path.

  She had not gone far before she scented more cats ahead. Cautiously she slid into the shelter of the ferns and crept forward, her pelt prickling with fear that Tigerstar might discover her spying on him.

  Heartbeats later she halted, bewildered. Three cats stood on the path, but they were not Tigerstar and his sons. Starshine sparkled at their paws and in their fur. One of them turned her head and Leafpool recognized Bluestar, who had been leader of ThunderClan before Firestar. She had died before Leafpool was born, but the medicine cat had met her sometimes in dreams.