Erin Hunter - Forest of Secrets

“Bluestar,” Whitestorm spoke up. “What will happen to Tigerclaw now?”

His question set off a crescendo of furious yowling from the Clan.

“Kill him!”

“Blind him!”

“Drive him out of the forest!”

Bluestar sat motionless, her eyes closed. Fireheart could feel the pain coming off her in waves, the bitter shock of betrayal as she discovered that the deputy she had trusted for so long was black at heart. “Tigerclaw,” she meowed at last, “have you anything to say in your defense?”

Tigerclaw swung his head around and fixed her with a yellow glare. “Defend myself to you, you gutless excuse for a warrior? What sort of a leader are you? Keeping the peace with other Clans. Helping them! You barely punished Fireheart and Graystripe for feeding RiverClan, and you sent them to fetch WindClan home! I would have never shown such kittypet softness. I would have brought back the days of TigerClan. I would have made ThunderClan great!”

“And how many cats would have died for it?” Bluestar murmured, almost to herself. Fireheart wondered if she was thinking of Thistleclaw, the arrogant, bloodthirsty warrior she could not have let become deputy instead of her. “If you have nothing else to say, then I sentence you to exile,” the leader announced, her voice cracking. Every word seemed to be dragged out of her. “You will leave ThunderClan territory now, and if any cat sees you here after sunrise tomorrow, they have my permission to kill you.”

“Kill me?” Tigerclaw spoke now, snarling his defiance. “I’d like to see any of them try.”

“Fireheart beat you,” Graystripe called out.

“Fireheart.” Tigerclaw turned his pale amber eyes on his enemy, and Fireheart felt his fur prickle at the look of unfettered hatred there. “Cross my path again, you stinking furball, and we’ll see who’s the stronger.”

Fireheart leaped to his paws, anger lending him energy. “Anytime, Tigerclaw,” he spat.

“No,” Bluestar growled. “No more fighting. Tigerclaw, leave our sight.”

Slowly Tigerclaw got up. His massive head swiveled back and forth as he scanned the crowd of cats. “Don’t think I’m finished,” he hissed. “I’ll be a leader yet. And any cat who comes with me will be well looked after. Darkstripe?”

Fireheart craned his neck to see Tigerclaw’s chief follower. He waited for Darkstripe to get up and go to Tigerclaw, but the sleek tabby remained in his place, his shoulders hunched wretchedly.

“I trusted you, Tigerclaw,” he protested. “I thought you were the finest warrior in the forest. But you plotted with that…that tyrant”—Fireheart knew he was speaking of Brokentail—“and you said nothing to me. And now you expect me to come with you?” He looked away deliberately.

Tigerclaw shrugged. “I needed Brokentail’s help to make contact with the rogue cats. If you choose to take this personally, that’s your problem,” he growled. “Longtail?”

Longtail gave a nervous start. “Come with you, Tigerclaw? Into exile?” His voice shook. “I…no, I can’t. I’m loyal to ThunderClan!”

And you’re a coward, Fireheart added silently, catching the fear-scent as Longtail shrank back into the crowd of cats.

For the first time, a look of uncertainty flickered across Tigerclaw’s face, as the few cats he had trusted turned him down. “What about you, Dustpelt?” he demanded. “You’ll have richer pickings with me than ever you will in ThunderClan.”

The young brown tabby got deliberately to his paws and picked his way through the surrounding cats until he stood in front of Tigerclaw. “I looked up to you,” he meowed in a clear, level voice. “I wanted to be like you. But Redtail was my mentor. I owe him more than any cat. And you killed him.” Grief and fury made his limbs shake, but he kept going. “You killed him and betrayed the Clan. I’d rather die than follow you.” He turned and stalked away.

A murmur of appreciation rose from the listening cats, and Fireheart heard Whitestorm whisper, “Well said, youngster.”

“Tigerclaw,” Bluestar broke in. “No more of this. Go now.”

Tigerclaw drew himself up to his full height, his eyes blazing in cold fury. “I’m going. But I’ll be back; you can be sure of that. I’ll be revenged on you all!” He padded unevenly away from the Highrock. As he drew close to Fireheart he paused, drawing his lips back in a snarl. “And as for you…” he hissed. “Keep your eyes open, Fireheart. Keep your ears pricked. Keep looking behind you. Because one day I’ll find you, and then you’ll be crowfood.”

“You’re crowfood now,” Fireheart retorted, struggling to hide the fear that crawled along his spine.

Tigerclaw spat, then turned and walked away. The Clan cats parted to let him through, every eye tracking him as he went. The great warrior was not completely steady on his paws—his wounds must be bothering him in spite of Cinderpaw’s herbs, Fireheart realized—but he did not stop or look back. The gorse tunnel swallowed him up and he was gone.

As he watched his defeated enemy disappear, Fireheart could not summon up the least sense of triumph. Surprising himself, he even felt a pang of regret. Tigerclaw could have been a warrior whose deeds would have been told to generations of kits—if only he had chosen loyalty over ambition. Fireheart could almost wail aloud at the waste.

All around him talk was beginning to break out again, as cats mewed urgently to one another about the startling events. “Who’ll be deputy now?” he heard Runningwind ask.

Fireheart glanced at Bluestar to see if she meant to make an announcement, but she was slipping around the side of the Highrock toward her den. Her head was down and her paws dragged as if she were ill. There would be no announcement yet.

“I think Fireheart should be deputy!” Cloudpaw declared, bouncing with excitement. “He’d do a great job!”

“Fireheart?” Darkstripe’s eyes narrowed. “A kittypet?”

“And what’s wrong with being a kittypet?” Cloudpaw bristled in front of the much bigger warrior.

Fireheart was about to haul himself to his paws and intervene when Whitestorm pushed between Darkstripe and the young apprentice. “That’s enough,” he growled. “Bluestar will tell us who she chooses before moonhigh. That’s the tradition.”

Fireheart let his shoulders relax as Cloudpaw scampered off to join the other apprentices. He could see that his apprentice didn’t realize the seriousness of what had happened. The older warriors, the ones who had known Tigerclaw well, were looking at one another as if their world had just come to an end.

“Well now, Fireheart.” Graystripe looked up as Fireheart walked over to join his friend and Cinderpaw. “Would you want to be deputy?” There was pain in his eyes, and blood still trickled from his mouth, yet he looked more alive than Fireheart had seen him since Silverstream’s death, as if the battle and the exposing of Tigerclaw’s villainy had taken his mind off his grief for a moment.

Fireheart couldn’t prevent a faint prickle of excitement from creeping along his spine. Deputy of ThunderClan! Then he realized how hard a job it would be, to pull these shattered cats together and mold them into a Clan again. “No,” he told Graystripe. “And Bluestar would never choose me.” He got up, shaking his head as if to put these thoughts out of his mind. “How are you feeling?” he asked. “Are those wounds very bad?”

“He’ll be fine,” meowed Cinderpaw. “But his tongue was scratched, and it’s still bleeding. I don’t know what to do for a scratched tongue. Fireheart, would you fetch Yellowfang for me?”

“Sure.”

The last Fireheart had seen of Yellowfang, she had been dragging Brokentail into her den; she had not reappeared for the condemning of Tigerclaw. He padded across the clearing and into the fern tunnel. As he pushed through the soft green fronds, he heard Yellowfang’s voice. Something about it—perhaps its gentleness, so unusual for Yellowfang—made him stay in the shelter of the arching ferns for a moment longer.