Tigerclaw's Fury

  Behind him, the other cats whispered their shock to one another, at finding their former Clan so ill and weak. Snag was sympathetic, vowing to catch every squirrel in the woods if that’s what it took to make the cats well again. Tigerclaw listened with half an ear. He didn’t care if every ShadowClan cat got sick and died. For now, he had an entire Clan in his debt, and that could only work in his favor.

  If mercy is power, then I have never been more powerful.

  The following day, Tigerclaw let the others go off and hunt for ShadowClan again, on the understanding that after sunhigh they would have a session of battle training. When the cats had crashed noisily through the bracken, deeper into the woods, Tigerclaw headed in the other direction, toward Twolegplace. The memory of Mowgli nagged at him; the loner may have turned tail and fled during the clash with ThunderClan warriors, but there had been something about the young brown cat—his eagerness to learn about Clan life, his appetite for battle—that suggested he might still be useful. Tigerclaw pictured the last time he had seen Mowgli, grappling with Fireheart, aiming his claws at the kittypet’s throat, before Brackenpaw had caught him off balance and dragged him away. Tigerclaw knew he couldn’t judge Mowgli too harshly, not after Fireheart had overpowered him in Bluestar’s den. This Twolegplace rogue had skills that could be very helpful indeed. Tigerclaw decided that he was willing to give him one more chance. But if the brown cat failed again, he would regret it more than anything else in his life.

  He reached a tall wooden fence and squeezed through a gap between the panels. His head spun as the cloying scents of Twolegplace crashed around him: flowers in colors that were rarely found in the woods, the sickly-sweet smell of too-short grass, and underlying everything, the stench of monsters, spewing their foul breath on the maze of Thunderpaths. Tigerclaw pushed through a bush with pale green leaves and jumped over a low stone wall. On each side, a narrow black path led between red stone Twoleg nests. He had a vague memory of being here before. If he went this way—he turned and trotted over the harsh stone, keeping to the shadow at one side—he could come to a dusty open space where strays came to bask in the sun. Ahead of him, the light grew brighter until he had to screw up his eyes. The sheltered path came to an abrupt end, and Tigerclaw peered into the bright white expanse. Several furry shapes lay on their sides, tails flicking lazily.

  A head lifted up close to him. “We’ve got company,” the silver-furred she-cat mewed to her companion.

  A fat brown tabby looked over at Tigerclaw. “He stinks.”

  “That’s what forest cats smell like,” meowed the first cat. “What are you doing here, stranger? Did you forget how to catch squirrels?”

  Tigerclaw ignored them. A flash of movement on the far side of the space had caught his attention. He narrowed his eyes and just made out a lean black shape with a distinctive pointed muzzle before it vanished behind a pile of stones. Pelt pricking, he padded around the edge of the space. Most of the strays paid no attention to him, though one growled at him to stop casting a shadow. Tigerclaw reached the place where he had seen the brown cat disappear and sniffed the broken rocks. He knew that scent . . .

  “Mowgli?” he called softly.

  He heard a rustle in the long grass behind the stones. “Tigerclaw?” came a cautious whisper. There was a pause, then a thin brown tom slid out. His eyes were huge and wary, and the fur pricked along his spine. “Did . . . did you come looking for me?”

  Tigerclaw blinked. “I don’t make a habit of coming into Twolegplace,” he snarled.

  Mowgli slunk closer, his head so low that his muzzle almost touched the ground. “I’m sorry, Tigerclaw,” he mewed. “I know I shouldn’t have let that cat chase me off. I know how much you wanted that ginger tom killed.”

  “Mistakes belong to the past,” Tigerclaw growled. He wasn’t going to let Mowgli think he wasn’t disappointed with him. “I want to know if you’d let it happen again.”

  The brown cat looked up at him, his green eyes hungry for approval. “Never!” he vowed. “I’d spill the last drop of my blood to fight alongside you again!”

  “I won’t ask that of you yet,” mewed Tigerclaw. “Things have changed. The other cats and I are living near ShadowClan now, but I still intend to destroy ThunderClan one day. And kill that ginger cat,” he finished with a hiss.

  Mowgli stood up straight, almost as tall at the shoulder as Tigerclaw. “Let me finish what I started,” he declared. “You won’t regret it, Tigerclaw.”

  “I’ll make sure I won’t,” Tigerclaw meowed. “Come, we have a lot to do.” He turned and trotted straight across the open space, deliberately scuffing a small cloud of dust toward the dozing strays. He heard them cough and curse behind him, but he and Mowgli had vanished into the gap between the Twoleg nests before the cats could haul their lazy bodies up.

  CHAPTER 5

  When Tigerclaw returned to the fallen tree with Mowgli at his heels, Snag looked surprised but greeted his old friend warmly and showed him where he could make a nest. Blackfoot was more cautious.

  “Are you sure you can trust him?” he mewed to Tigerclaw.

  “If you think he might be a spy for ThunderClan, that’s highly unlikely,” Tigerclaw pointed out. “Last time ThunderClan saw him, he was trying to claw Fireheart’s throat.”

  “I didn’t mean that he might favor ThunderClan now,” Blackfoot argued. “I just wondered how much we can rely on a cat who turned tail at the first sign of battle. What if he leaves us again?”

  “Then he won’t come back,” Tigerclaw answered. “He knows this is his last chance.”

  Tangleburr padded over to join them. “We’re ready for battle training when you are, Tigerclaw,” she mewed. “Oh, and Clawface and I saw some ShadowClan cats by the border while we were hunting. They wanted to know if they could hunt with us tomorrow.”

  Tigerclaw frowned. “What, in these woods?”

  “No,” meowed Tangleburr. “Inside ShadowClan territory. That’s where they know the best places to find prey. But they thought they might be more successful if we helped.”

  Tigerclaw felt a ripple of satisfaction run through his fur. Had ShadowClan warriors already realized how much they needed him and his companions? He waited a few moments before replying. “Very well, but we will still hunt separately for ourselves. ShadowClan must understand that we can survive without them.”

  Tangleburr nodded. “Of course. Thanks, Tigerclaw. I . . . er . . . told Wetfoot that we’d meet them at the border just before sunhigh.” She blinked nervously. “If you said it was okay.”

  Tigerclaw flicked the tip of his tail, just enough to warn Tangleburr that he knew she had promised help too easily. The she-cat looked down at her paws.

  Mowgli was looking confused. “I thought you hated the Clans,” he meowed.

  “Only ThunderClan,” Tigerclaw growled. “ShadowClan is suffering from sickness and hunger. If we are strong enough to help them, we will.”

  Clawface padded past them, heading into the shade of the oak tree. “I might take a nap,” he muttered. “Before we practice battle moves.”

  Tigerclaw blocked him with one paw. “Will you always be able to take a nap before an enemy attacks? No. You’ll train now, with the energy that you have. Understand?”

  There was a flash of anger in Clawface’s eyes, then he nodded. “I understand, Tigerclaw.”

  Good, whispered the voice in Tigerclaw’s mind. These cats must make no decisions on their own, not unless you want them to feel more powerful than you.

  Tigerclaw felt his muscles tense across his shoulders. Never, he vowed silently.

  The following day, as the sun reached the tops of the trees, Tigerclaw was gratified to see the relief in the eyes of the gray tabby tom waiting for them at the border.

  “I thought you might change your mind,” Wetfoot gabbled as they drew near.

  Tangleburr glanced sideways at Tigerclaw. “We will help you if we can,” she mewed carefully.

  Tigerclaw stepped ove
r the border. “Right, which way are we going first?”

  A small, light brown cat pricked his ears. “Wetfoot’s leading this patrol,” he chirped.

  Wetfoot quickly shook his head. “It’s fine, Oakpaw. Tigerclaw can lead us.”

  A bony, black she-cat scraped the mulch on the ground. “My belly thinks my throat’s been slashed,” she muttered. “Are we hunting or talking?”

  “Okay, Darkflower, keep your fur on,” teased Blackfoot, and Tigerclaw was reminded with a jolt that his companions—apart from Snag and Mowgli—knew these cats far better than he did, were friends and even kin with them. He couldn’t let that become a weakness for him.

  “We’ll keep to the border with the wild woods,” he announced. “Follow me, and wait for my command to begin stalking.”

  “We usually scent our own prey,” Oakpaw began, but Tangleburr cut in.

  “Whatever you think best, Tigerclaw,” she meowed.

  Tigerclaw plunged forward, relishing the feel of the ground beneath his paws, breathing in the green scents of the forest that swallowed him up. Behind him, the other cats matched him stride for stride; ahead of them stretched a swath of silent trees, swollen with prey just waiting to be caught.

  “Why exactly did you leave ThunderClan?” meowed Applefur. The mottled brown she-cat was lying in a patch of sunlight, lazily flicking her tail.

  Tigerclaw studied her, noticing the gleam of curiosity in her pale green gaze. He had just returned to the ShadowClan camp with another successful hunting patrol. The young warrior Russetfur had impressed him in particular—she had been raised in Twolegplace with Boulder, but she was as sharp and lethal as a forestborn cat when it came to chasing prey. Around him, ShadowClan cats ate peacefully, enjoying the feel of sun on their patchy coats. All except Nightstar, who was too sick to come out of his den; Tigerclaw could hear him coughing behind the screen of brambles.

  He traced a line in the dust with one long claw. “You’ll hear enough rumors about me to make up your own stories,” he meowed.

  Applefur blinked and let her cheek rest on the ground. “That’s why I’m asking you for the truth.”

  Tigerclaw stood up and surveyed the clearing. “I cannot be loyal to a Clan that listens to a kittypet over its deputy. I still believe in the warrior code, even if my former Clanmates don’t.”

  “Are you talking about Fireheart?” asked Ratscar, a young warrior with the claw mark that had given him his warrior name standing out against his dark brown fur.

  Tigerclaw curled his lip. “If you don’t want another stripe in your pelt, you won’t mention his name around here,” he growled. He nodded to Blackfoot, who was talking to Fernshade. “Come, it’s time we left.”

  A dark gray tom lifted his head from a pigeon he was sharing with the other elders. “Do you have to leave already?” he called. “The sun won’t set for a while. I was going to tell you about the time I found a badger stuck in the marshes.”

  Tigerclaw made himself look disappointed. “Next time, Cedarheart, I’d love to hear that tale. My friends and I have imposed ourselves on your Clan for long enough today.” With a flick of his tail, he gathered his companions around him.

  “You’ll come back tomorrow, won’t you?” mewed Runningnose, poking his head out of Nightstar’s den. “I . . . I thought you might arrange the hunting patrols for me. I need to look for more herbs across the border.”

  Tigerclaw tipped his head on one side. “If you wish, Runningnose. We’ll be here soon after dawn.” He padded out of the camp, letting his companions call their farewells over their shoulders.

  They are beginning to need you like the forest needs rain, whispered the voice in his head. Good work, Tigerclaw.

  The four cats looked excited and proud to have been chosen for Tigerclaw’s hunting patrol. Russetfur’s lean muscles strained beneath her fox-colored fur as if she was already picturing her first pounce, while Ratscar was flexing his claws, checking them for sharpness. Clawface looked as composed as ever, but his ears were pricked and the tip of his tail twitched. Beside him stood Whitethroat, a black-and-white tom who was small for his age but seemed quick and keen. Tigerclaw wanted to see just how fast he could move.

  “I thought we’d hunt something other than ShadowClan prey today,” Tigerclaw announced.

  Russetfur tipped her head to one side. “What else is there?”

  “Perhaps prey from somewhere else?” mewed Clawface, his eyes beginning to gleam.

  Tigerclaw nodded. “Let’s try ThunderClan,” he suggested, watching each warrior closely.

  Russetfur and Ratscar braced their shoulders and narrowed their eyes, but Whitethroat took a step back.

  “Th . . . ThunderClan?” he stammered. “Really? But that would be stealing!”

  Tigerclaw blinked. “Do you have a problem, Whitethroat?”

  The little cat looked down at his paws. “I would rather not take prey from ThunderClan, that’s all,” he meowed.

  Clawface crossed to stand beside Tigerclaw. “There are rumors,” he began quietly, “that Whitethroat and Littlecloud sought shelter in ThunderClan during the worst of the sickness.”

  “Do you think that’s true?” Tigerclaw hissed.

  Clawface studied the black-and-white warrior, who seemed to be trying to shrink inside his own pelt. “I can imagine two frightened cats trying to escape from a Clan that was dying around them,” he mewed.

  “Then we need to make sure their loyalty to their own Clan hasn’t faltered,” Tigerclaw stated grimly. Raising his voice, he meowed, “Whitethroat, this is not a hunt-if-you-want-to patrol. You will follow where I lead, is that clear?” He padded over to the warrior and let his claws slide out. “All other Clans are enemies to ShadowClan. If we want to take prey from them, there should be nothing to stop us. Do you understand?”

  Looking terrified, the small cat nodded. Tigerclaw let his gaze drift around the clearing until it settled on Littlecloud. The gray tabby was shuffling through some herbs for Runningnose. Tigerclaw curled his lip. Now that Littlecloud was an apprentice medicine cat, it would be hard to test his loyalty in the form of hunting or battle. Tigerclaw would have to keep an eye on him.

  “Let’s go,” he meowed, curling his tail over his back and leading the way out of the camp at a brisk trot. He swiveled his ears to check that four sets of paws were following, then ducked into the tangled, brittle grass where tiny paths would lead them to the tunnel that ran beneath the Thunderpath. Before he ducked into the narrow hole, Tigerclaw paused to take one last breath of ShadowClan scent. Was this where he belonged now? He hadn’t been into ThunderClan territory since . . . He pushed aside the memory of Bluestar ordering him to leave and ran into the tunnel. His paw steps echoed hollowly around him for a moment, then he burst into the thick green forest on the other side. Home! screeched his traitorous senses as countless smells of leaves and ferns and lush green growing things filled his nose. Woven among them were traces of tiny furred creatures, rustling through the undergrowth, scrambling over mossy tree trunks, leaving their invisible trails for hungry cats to follow.

  “Wow!” breathed Ratscar. “This smells like good hunting!”

  Tigerclaw nodded. “Stay close to the Thunderpath for now. There’s no point drawing attention to ourselves before we’ve had a chance to catch a decent haul.”

  He plunged into the bracken, relishing the feel of dew-damp leaves brushing against his spine. Almost at once he heard the crunch of a mouse nibbling on a seed. Dropping into the hunter’s crouch, he crept forward, one paw step at a time, until his muzzle pushed aside a frond of bracken and revealed the small brown creature. Tigerclaw bunched his hindquarters beneath him, then sprang silently past the frond to land right on top of the mouse. It let out a faint squeak, soft and warm and delicious-smelling in Tigerclaw’s paws. He swallowed the water that had surged into his mouth and buried his prey quickly.

  Behind him, the ShadowClan cats were staring openmouthed.

  “That was fast!” Russetfur c
ommented.

  Tigerclaw felt a surge of pride. This was his territory now; he knew every hunting trick his ancestors had ever thought up. He shrugged as if it was no big deal and shouldered his way past an elder bush, drooping with heavy white flowers. The scent tickled his nose and almost made him sneeze, but he stopped when he heard a soft crackle on the other side of the bush. Peering through, Tigerclaw spotted three light brown shapes slipping between a pair of tall ash trees, along a trail that led to the border. A ThunderClan patrol! He squinted, identifying Mousefur, Runningwind, and Thornclaw. A memory flashed into Tigerclaw’s mind of those three cats sneering at him as he padded from the ThunderClan camp for the last time. Each one had treated him no better than a captured prisoner, battered and defeated by their precious kittypet. Tigerclaw felt a slow flame of rage burn in his belly.

  This was too good an opportunity to miss. “ShadowClan cats!” he yowled over his shoulder. “Attack!”

  CHAPTER 6

  Tigerclaw exploded through the bush and launched himself onto Runningwind’s narrow brown back. The warrior dropped beneath him like a stone. Tigerclaw let his talons sink into Runningwind’s throat and fought back a yowl of delight as blood welled up around his paws. Behind him he heard Mousefur and Thornclaw racing away, their paw steps rapidly fading in the direction of the camp. “Cowards!” Tigerclaw spat.

  “Great StarClan!” gasped Russetfur. “You’ve killed him!”

  Tigerclaw stepped off Runningwind’s unmoving body. “He should have reacted more quickly,” he mewed.

  Whitethroat padded forward on trembling legs and lowered his nose to sniff Runningwind’s pelt. “But . . . he wasn’t expecting to be attacked! He was just on a patrol.”

  “A good warrior is always ready,” growled Tigerclaw. “Now, who is going to help me find the others?”

  Clawface scraped his paw along the ground. “For what reason? We have trespassed on their territory. You’ve killed a warrior! We don’t want to drag our Clanmates into a battle with ThunderClan. We are not yet strong enough for that!”