“Now!” Darktail meowed to Violetpaw. “It’s time to have some fun.”
Fun? Violetpaw thought, appalled.
Darktail raced forward into the battle, and Violetpaw followed him. At first she wasn’t sure she wanted to attack the RiverClan cats. She remembered Dawnpelt’s words the night before, how her former mentor was convinced the rogues were evil.
RiverClan attacked us with the others, but they were just trying to help ShadowClan. Can it be right to drive them off their territory?
But she remembered too what Darktail had said, that the Clan cats had always been hostile to the rogues. And Mistystar called us mange-ridden just now! We should teach her to respect the Kin…
Violetpaw still hovered on the edge of the battle. Darktail had bounded ahead of her, his claws stretched out to slash at Mistystar. But Reedwhisker, the RiverClan deputy, a lean, black streak of fury, hurled himself between Darktail and his leader. He and Darktail wrestled on the ground, legs and tails flailing.
Roach and Nettle were fighting close together, dealing vicious blows to the RiverClan cats who attacked them. The stench of blood filled the air; Violetpaw gagged on it, wanting to hide under the nearest bush and close her eyes until it was all over.
But she knew she couldn’t do that. The Kin seemed to be driving back the RiverClan cats, and she glanced around to see how the kittypets and elders were getting along.
What she saw chilled her from ears to tail-tip. Both elders were badly hurt: Oakfur lay at the edge of the Thunderpath, struggling to stand, while Ratscar stood over him, battling a RiverClan warrior, with blood dripping from a scar across his cheek.
Loki had retreated across a wide area, covered by the same hard stuff as the Thunderpath, that stretched as far as the lake. He was crouched at the water’s edge, shivering with fear. Zelda was limping toward him, a huge gash in one of her hind legs, letting out whimpers of pain at every paw step.
For a terrible moment, Violetpaw couldn’t spot Max. Then she saw him lying in a clump of long grass on the RiverClan side of the border, the ground all around him clotted with blood. He wasn’t moving at all.
Is he dead? A cold wave of horror washed over Violetpaw, and she remembered how the tom had puffed out his chest when he first came into the forest, boasting that he would deal with any cats who dared to attack the Kin. And this is how he’s ended up.
Violetpaw’s horror turned to hot anger. The air seemed to be filled with a red haze, and her mind emptied of everything except the need to hurt the cats who had hurt her friends. She longed to feel her claws slashing through RiverClan pelts.
Hurtling into the undergrowth on the RiverClan side of the border, Violetpaw found herself face to face with Owlnose. He ducked to avoid the blow she aimed at him, and her claws whipped harmlessly past his ears. He rose up on his hind paws, trying to box her ears with both his forepaws, but Violetpaw barreled forward, keeping her head low, and raked her claws across his unprotected belly. Owlnose backed off, his jaws wide as he gasped in pain.
Violetpaw spun away from him and flung herself back into the battle, hardly aware of which cats she was facing as she whirled around, striking with outstretched claws and letting out fearsome caterwauls. At last she realized that no more opponents were coming forward to challenge her, and she stood still, panting.
A cat loomed up beside her, and she turned, ready to defend herself, then relaxed as she realized it was Needletail. To Violetpaw’s relief, though her friend had several scratches down her flanks, she didn’t seem to be badly hurt.
“You fought well,” Needletail meowed. “But you can stop now. It’s over.”
Violetpaw pushed her way through a barrier of ferns that separated her from the Thunderpath and looked around. The hard surface and the ground on either side were strewn with the bodies of dead cats. There were so many that at first Violetpaw couldn’t identify any of them.
Mistystar stood close by, surrounded by some of her warriors. All of them were seriously injured; Mistystar’s wound had opened up again, and blood was trickling down through her blue-gray fur.
The Kin have won, Violetpaw thought, and wondered why she didn’t feel more triumphant.
Mistystar bent her head to sniff at the body of a russet tabby tom, who lay stretched out with a gaping wound in his throat. “Foxnose,” Mistystar whispered. “You didn’t deserve this. Heronwing, too,” she added, her voice shaking as she turned toward a gray-and-black warrior whose limp body was huddled nearby. “You fought so bravely.”
“Petalfur and Shadepelt are dead, too.” A tortoiseshell elder—Violetpaw remembered that her name was Mosspelt—came staggering up, with blood smeared over her white chest fur. She halted beside her Clan leader and pressed her nose into Mistystar’s shoulder fur. Violetpaw turned aside, unable to go on witnessing their grief.
Now the sun had fully risen, casting a reddish glow across the landscape. By the light of it, Violetpaw spotted Darktail standing in the middle of the Thunderpath. His white pelt was soaked in blood, scarlet with it, and at first Violetpaw thought that he too must have been badly wounded. But then, seeing his firm stance and the proud angle of his head, she realized that the blood was not his own.
As she watched, Darktail raised one of his paws to his mouth and licked off a clot of thick red blood. He flung back his head and let out a yowl of victory. All around him, the rest of the Kin joined in.
Before the caterwauling died away, Violetpaw noticed a limp, black-furred body lying on the ground close beside her. The dead cat’s throat was torn out, and the earth around her was drenched in her blood. With a start of horror, Violetpaw recognized Pinenose, the cat who had fostered her when she first arrived in ShadowClan.
“Oh, Pinenose,” Violetpaw whispered sadly, “you never showed me much love, but you took care of me when I was a stranger in your Clan. I’m sorry you had to die.”
“Mistystar,” Darktail began, while Violetpaw was still staring at her foster mother’s body, “it’s time to take your mange-ridden Clan out of here. This is Kin territory now.”
Mistystar glared at him with hatred in her blue eyes. “We’ll go,” she snarled. “You give us no choice. But we’ll be back.”
Darktail flicked his tail dismissively. “I’m terrified.”
Mistystar called her warriors together, and those who were not so badly injured began helping the seriously wounded cats to stand, with Mothwing and Willowshine quickly packing cobwebs onto the worst of their gashes.
Violetpaw spotted Reedwhisker, who had leaped in to defend his leader and now lay on one side, panting with his eyes half closed. Icewing’s white pelt was half clawed off, her wounds showing red and angry, while one of Brackenpelt’s ears was shredded, and she held one forepaw off the ground as she tottered upright. Mintfur looked as if he was dead, though he let out a groan when Mothwing bent over him and laid a paw on his neck.
“One moment,” Darktail meowed, stepping forward. “Where do you think you’re taking these cats?”
Mistystar stared at him as if she found it hard to understand the question. “With us, of course,” she replied, “so that Mothwing and Willowshine can treat their injuries. The battle is over!”
“The wounded stay with me,” Darktail hissed, his eyes dark and menacing as he gazed at Mistystar. Sliding out his claws, he added, “Unless you’d like to fight us for them.”
Mistystar slid out her claws in response, drawing her lips back in the beginning of a snarl. But after a moment’s hesitation, facing Darktail with her shoulder fur bristling, she took a pace back. Violetpaw guessed she was considering the poor shape her Clan cats were in, and her own serious wound. None of them were a match for Darktail; the rogue leader seemed to have grown even stronger in the chaos of the battle.