Faint murmurs came from inside: “Can you see anything?”
“No, but I’m sure I heard a RiverClan cat yowl just now.”
“Have they come to help WindClan, do you think?”
“They wouldn’t have had to come all this way to help ThunderClan, would they, mouse-brain?
They’d have attacked WindClan from the other side!”
“No point ruffling our fur about RiverClan,” put in a third voice. “That bunch of fatties wouldn’t take on a mouse if it lay down under their paws.”
I used my tail to tell Reedwhisker to get ready. When I flicked the tip, we both sprang up to the hole, scrabbling against the rough stone with our hind legs to push ourselves up. I balanced on the narrow wall, blinking to let my eyes adjust to the darkness inside the nest. Three pairs of eyes stared at me in surprise. Before they had a chance to react, I howled, “Attack!” and jumped down into the nest.
I stumbled as I landed on the pitted earthen floor, and a ShadowClan warrior flung himself onto my back. I let myself keep falling until I was rolling sideways, sending the warrior right over me. I jumped to my paws and spun around to face the small, pale-colored she-cat; the name Whitetail flashed through my mind, but this wasn’t a Gathering. Individual warriors don’t matter in a battle.
Only winning matters.
I waited for her to launch herself at me, then dodged away and flicked my front paw into her face. It was kind of like catching a fish—but with a much easier target. ShadowClan cats are like great, hairy boulders compared with a swift flash of trout! Whitetail screeched and staggered back, bleeding from her nose. Blackclaw was waiting for her, and bit her flank so hard that she left a clump of fur in his teeth as she wrenched herself free and fled.
Reedwhisker was wrestling with a ShadowClan tom in a corner—it was you, Snaketail, wasn’t it? You fought well, my old friend, and I’ll admit that Reedwhisker got lucky when you hit your head on that lump of stone and gave him a chance to pin you down. The third ShadowClan cat was a brown tom called Antpelt, who’d threatened me at the previous Gathering just because I scolded his apprentice for being rude to an elder. I don’t mind telling you that I relished the chance to get even with him. Blackclaw and I forced him through a gap in the wall into another den, this one smaller and darker than the first. It was hard to spot his dingy pelt in the shadows, but he gave himself away by squeaking like a kit when something scrabbled in the corner—a rat, by the smell of it. Blackclaw and I pounced on the ShadowClan warrior, and thumped his ears until he dashed to the front entrance, still squealing.
We had captured the Twoleg nest! A jagged wooden slope led up to the rafters of the nest and I ran lightly up, disturbing the thick gray dust with my paws so that motes hung sparkling in the shafts of sunlight that pierced the broken roof. I paced along the nearest length of wood and looked out of a gap beneath the roof. I had a clear view of the Thunderpath in both directions. Blackclaw was right: This place was perfect for an ambush!
Suddenly there was a screech from below. I looked down through the slats of wood and saw my
Clanmates advancing on a cat who seemed to be trying to bury himself in a corner of the nest. It was a ShadowClan warrior, but so streaked with dirt and blood that I couldn’t tell which one.
Dawnflower looked up. “This one was hiding in here like a coward. His Clanmates won’t thank him for leaving them to face us alone. Shall we teach him a lesson?”
The cat stared up at me, his blue eyes huge and pale against his filthy pelt. His mouth opened, but only a tiny hoarse cough came out.
Reedwhisker raised his paw and held it over the cat’s neck. “Shall I finish him?” he offered. “Or do you want to have that pleasure, Pouncetail?”
A broken piece of wood sloped down to a heap of stones at the side of the den below me. I padded down the wood, sinking in my claws to stop myself from sliding onto the heads of my
Clanmates. As I jumped onto the floor, they stepped back from the ShadowClan cat, giving me the honor of claiming this victory. I walked over to the quivering warrior. He was young, perhaps only a moon or two beyond his apprentice days. Beneath the dirt, his fur was gray, and his front paws were black.
“You’re Spiderfoot, aren’t you?” I snarled, recognizing him.
The tom nodded.
“Stand up,” I ordered.
Spiderfoot hauled himself to his feet, stumbling on a piece of stone. I nodded to the sloping piece of wood. “Walk up there.”
Still looking terrified, Spiderfoot jumped over the fallen stones and clawed his way up the beam. I followed.
“Ah,” growled Blackclaw, sounding satisfied. “Going to see if he has wings instead of the courage of a warrior, are you? Good idea.”
Spiderfoot reached the gap underneath the roof and stared at me. “Are you really going to push me off?” he whimpered.
Feeling queasy at his sharp-scented fear, I shook my head. “Not this time.” I twitched my ears toward the jagged slope of wood that led down to the entrance of the nest. “Go back to your Clanmates,” I told him. “And warn them not to underestimate RiverClan warriors again.”
Spiderfoot gazed at me for a moment more, as if he couldn’t believe I was letting him go, just like that. Then he spun around and fled, leaving deep scores in the dust.
I followed him more slowly down to the floor of the nest. Blackclaw, Dawnflower, and Reedwhisker were waiting for me with their mouths open.
“You missed a chance to show ShadowClan just how fierce RiverClan can be,” Blackclaw spat.
I looked steadily at him. “The warrior code says that we do not have to kill to achieve victory.
Having mercy on your enemy, and sparing him to fight another day, shows the greatest courage of all.
Where is the honor in winning four against one?”
I padded toward the entrance. Already I could hear more cats approaching. “Come,” I meowed to my Clanmates. “One battle has been won, but the war is not yet over.”
Nightwhisper Speaks: A Rogue’s Story
I was born in the Twolegplace beside the forest where the Clans used to live. My mother was a stray, and never spoke of living with Twolegs, although her coat was soft enough that it wasn’t hard to imagine she had once lived in a red stone nest and been a plump, spoiled kittypet. My littermates and I learned to fight by doing battle with one another amid the looming walls and bright green grass of Twolegplace, keeping out of the way of dogs and other cats, coming out only at night, when the alleyways were quiet and empty.
By the time I was full-grown, two of my brothers had been killed on the Thunderpaths, and my sister had chosen to live with Twolegs. I saw her sometimes, sprawled on flat white stones outside her housefolk’s nest, or licking her plump belly, her fur stinking of kittypet slop. I was left alone, stealing food from Twoleg scraps, hiding from cats who would have ripped my pelt off for the sake of a chicken bone. Some cats talked to me, when we all had full bellies or were too weak with hunger to fight. They told me that they were exiles from ShadowClan, chased out of their home for breaking the rules of the warrior code. They told me about how the code had once kept them safe and strong and bound in loyalty to the cats who shared their territory. I envied those cats, and secretly thought the exiles were fools to have thrown away what they had before.
Then another cat came to the Twolegplace. Tall, dark furred, with muscles rippling across his wide shoulders. “My name is Tigerclaw,” he told us. “And I need your help.”