In the clearing below, Cloudtail leaped to his paws and yowled agreement. Several cats echoed him, but Firestar could see that some glanced doubtfully at one another, as if they were not sure they had a chance of surviving against BloodClan and their fearsome leader.
“What about RiverClan and ShadowClan?” asked Whitestorm. “Will they fight? And if they do, which side will they be on?”
“That’s a good question,” Firestar replied. “And I don’t know the answer. The TigerClan warriors ran away when Tigerstar died.”
“Then we need to know where they went,” Whitestorm meowed.
“I could slip over into RiverClan territory to see,” suggested Mistyfoot, getting up from where she sat at the base of the rock. “I know all the best places to hide.”
“No,” Firestar ordered. “You’re in more danger over there than any cat. We don’t know if TigerClan are still persecuting half-Clan cats, and I don’t want to lose you. ThunderClan needs you.”
For a moment Mistyfoot looked as if she would have liked to argue, but she dipped her head and sat down again as Whitestorm meowed, “We can find out most of what we need from border patrols.”
Firestar nodded. “That’s your job, Whitestorm. I want extra patrols along the ShadowClan and RiverClan borders. Their main task is to find out what the other Clans are doing, but they can keep their eyes open for BloodClan as well. If Scourge decides to attack before the three days are up, I don’t want us to be caught napping.”
Whitestorm flicked his tail in agreement. “Consider it done.”
Firestar could see that his deputy’s calm efficiency had encouraged the rest of the Clan, and he went on quickly before their fears could return. “Next, every cat in the Clan must be prepared to fight.”
“Even the kits?” That was Sorrelkit, springing eagerly to her paws. “Can we be in the battle? Can we be apprentices?”
In spite of the danger they were in, Firestar suppressed a purr of amusement. “No, you’re too young to be apprentices,” he told Sorrelkit gently. “And I can’t take you into battle. But if BloodClan win, they’ll come here, and you’ll need to be able to defend yourselves. Sandstorm, will you be responsible for training the kits?”
“I will, Firestar.” Sandstorm’s green eyes flashed with approval at Sorrelkit and her littermates, Sootkit and Rainkit, who had scrambled up to stand beside their sister. “They’ll be able to give BloodClan a nasty surprise by the time I’ve finished with them.”
“What about Brightheart?” Cloudtail called. “Her fighting moves are coming along well.”
“I want to fight in the battle,” Brightheart mewed determinedly. “Can I, Firestar?”
Firestar hesitated. Brightheart was stronger now, and she had been training hard with Cloudtail. “I’ll think about it,” he promised. “Are you ready for an assessment?”
Brightheart nodded. “Anytime, Firestar.”
“We’ll fight with you, too,” Mistyfoot put in from where she sat near the base of the rock. Featherpaw and Stormpaw, sitting beside her, straightened up and looked determined. “We’re all strong enough, thanks to you.”
“Good. As for the rest of you”—Firestar’s gaze swept the clearing—“warriors, apprentices, and elders, you have three days to prep are. Graystripe, will you supervise a training program?”
His friend’s eyes lit up and his ears pricked. “No problem, Firestar.”
“Get a couple of the others to help you…and rotate the training sessions so Whitestorm has enough cats for his patrols, and for hunting.” Glancing around, he spotted the medicine cat sitting near the fern tunnel that led to her den. “Cinderpelt, are you ready to look after the wounded?”
Privately, Firestar knew there was no need to ask; he had never known Cinderpelt not to be ready, but he knew it would reassure the other cats to hear her say so out loud.
The look Cinderpelt gave him showed that she understood. “Everything’s prepared,” she replied. “But there’ll be a lot to do once the fighting starts. If you could let me have an apprentice to help, that would be great.”
“Of course.” As Firestar wondered which apprentice to choose, his gaze rested on Fernpaw, and he remembered her gentleness and sensitivity to other cats’ injuries. “You can have Fernpaw,” he announced, and saw Dustpelt flash him a relieved look. “Fernpaw, if that’s okay with you?”
The gray she-cat dipped her head in assent. For a moment Firestar wondered if he had forgotten anything, but he couldn’t think what else they could do to prep are for what lay ahead.
Gazing down at his Clan, their shapes beginning to melt into the twilight, he took a deep breath. “Now eat well, and get a good sleep tonight,” he ordered. “Tomorrow we’ll begin—and in three days we’ll be ready to show Scourge and his Clan that our forest will never be theirs for the taking.”
CHAPTER 24
When Firestar emerged from his den the following morning, the camp was already full of activity. Mousefur was leaving at the head of a patrol. Sandstorm was rounding up Willowpelt’s three kits, who bounced around her in wild excitement as she herded them toward the gorse tunnel on their way to the training hollow. Mistyfoot and the two RiverClan apprentices followed them. Brackenfur passed them at the entrance to the camp, a piece of fresh-kill in his jaws.
Firestar spotted Whitestorm with Bramblepaw and Ashpaw beside the thorn wall that surrounded the camp, and padded across to join them. The white warrior came to meet him.
“I’m getting these two to inspect the defenses and patch any gaps,” he meowed. “If BloodClan get this far…” He stopped, his blue eyes worried.
“Good idea.” Firestar suppressed a shiver at the thought of BloodClan breaking into the camp. He turned sharply at the sight of movement in the gorse tunnel, and flashed a glance of astonishment at Whitestorm as Ravenpaw appeared, followed by Barley. The black-and-white loner had never been to the ThunderClan camp before.
Leaving his deputy to finish instructing the apprentices, Firestar padded toward them. Ravenpaw hurried forward confidently, but Barley lagged behind, glancing warily around, as if he wasn’t sure of a welcome.
“We have to talk to you,” Ravenpaw blurted out. “Last night we met Onewhisker on the border of his territory and he told us about Scourge and BloodClan.” The raven-colored fur on his shoulders bristled.
“We want to help, but more important, Barley has some information for you.”
Firestar dipped his head in greeting. “It’s good to see you both,” he meowed. “And we’re grateful for any help we can get. Perhaps you’d better come to my den.”
Barley relaxed at Firestar’s friendly greeting, and the two loners followed Firestar to the hollow beneath the Highrock. Early-morning sunshine slanted through the entrance and into the peaceful den. Firestar could almost forget the threat from Scourge and his bloodthirsty followers. But the serious expressions of his visitors reminded him all too clearly of the shadow over the future of the forest.
“What is it?” he prompted, once the two loners were settled.
Ravenpaw was gazing around him with an almost awestruck look—Firestar guessed he was remembering Bluestar, and maybe wondering at how the apprentice who had trained with him had come to take the former leader’s place. Barley, however, looked uneasy, crouching with his paws tucked under him as he began to speak.
“I was born in Twolegplace,” he began quietly. “I know too much about Scourge and his warriors. I…I suppose you could say I was once a member of BloodClan.”
Firestar’s interest quickened. “Go on.”
“The first thing I remember is playing with my littermates on a patch of waste ground,” Barley explained. “Our mother taught us to hunt and find food among Twoleg rubbish. Later on she showed us how to defend ourselves.”
“Your mother mentored you?” Firestar asked, surprised. “All of you?”
Barley nodded. “BloodClan doesn’t have a proper system of mentors and apprentices. It’s not a Clan at all in the way you forest cats understand it. Most cats listen to Scourge because he’s the strongest and the most vicious, and Bone is a kind of deputy, insofar as he carries out Scourge’s dirty work.”
“Bone?” Fireheart asked. “Is that a big black-and-white cat? He was there at Fourtrees.”
“That sounds like him, yes.” The loner’s voice was filled with disgust. “He’s almost as bad as Scourge. Any cats who don’t do as they’re told are chased off, if they’re lucky, or more likely killed.”