Warriors: Battles of the Clans

by Erin Hunter

She stood halfway up the shore, facing inland, listening for her apprentices. A whisper of droplets told her that the first cat had emerged. That was fine; a border patrol would pay no attention to that. Heavier pads on the sand gave away Tanglepaw’s exit, but masked any sound of Duckpaw. Now they were waiting for Rushpaw.

  “Ow!”

  The muffled yelp was followed by a splash. Mistystar spun around to see Rushpaw vanish headfirst under the water, then bob up almost at once, spluttering and thrashing with her front paws.

  “I stubbed my toe on a stone!” she wailed.

  Pikepaw curled his lip and Tanglepaw rolled his eyes. “Honestly, Rushpaw, you’re hopeless!”

  Rushpaw stumbled out of the water and stood on the sand, tilting back her head to glare at her brother. “I am not hopeless! I’m just a lot smaller than you!”

  “If you’re that small, maybe you should have stayed in the nursery,” meowed Duckpaw. “You’re spoiling everything!”

  Rushpaw’s tail drooped like a piece of wet fern. Mistystar stepped forward. “I would have made you all do the exercise again, anyway.” She didn’t want Rushpaw to get into trouble from her denmates because she had ruined their first exit. But Mistystar was beginning to have doubts about the undersized apprentice. RiverClan cats weren’t known for their long legs, but Rushpaw’s were shorter than most, and she didn’t seem to have the serious attitude toward training that the other apprentices did. Should she go back to the nursery for a couple of moons to gain some maturity?

  The apprentices paddled back into the stream and swam out to the center.

  “I’m going to be an enemy patrol,” Mistystar called. “See if you can surprise me upstream.” She trotted across the shore and ducked into the undergrowth farther up the bank.

  In the water, Tanglepaw took charge. “Let’s swim ahead of her and set an ambush.”

  “The bank slopes down again on the far side of that willow tree,” mewed Duckpaw. “We can climb out there.”

  “Okay, but don’t swim too fast,” puffed Rushpaw.

  “Perhaps you should stay here and keep watch in case she comes back?” Pikepaw suggested as he pushed off from the bottom.

  Rushpaw splashed water at him with her front paw. “You’re not leaving me behind! I’ll get it right this time, I promise!”

  Duckpaw circled around and swam alongside the little apprentice. “Don’t worry; we won’t leave you here. Just try to keep up, okay?”

  “Er, I think we’re supposed to be swimming silently?” Tanglepaw reminded them over his shoulder. He struck out, leading the group around a curve in the stream, toward the willow tree. He couldn’t see Mistystar in the undergrowth that grew along the bank, and the noise of the water in his ears made it impossible to hear anything but the loudest birdcalls overhead. He just had to hope she was deep enough in the reeds that she didn’t know how far the apprentices had swum.

  A narrow strip of pebbly beach opened up as they passed the trailing willow branches. Tanglepaw steered into the cover of the delicate silver-green fronds and carefully lowered his paws to the bottom of the stream. The stones were larger here, and he took a moment to find his balance. Duckpaw, Pikepaw, and Rushpaw swam in behind him. They were enclosed in a pale green cave dappled with sparkles reflecting from the water and hidden from the bank by the trunk of the willow tree. It was a perfect place to launch an ambush.

  A tiny crackle downstream revealed that Mistystar was approaching.

  “Get ready,” Tanglepaw whispered. “And remember, we can’t make any noise as we leave the water.”

  Tanglepaw eased himself forward, placing each paw down before he lifted the next. Pikepaw, Duckpaw, and Rushpaw kept close to him, easing through the branches toward the open shore. Out of the corner of his eye, Tanglepaw glimpsed a pale gray flash behind the willow tree. Mistystar was coming closer.

  “Quick!” he hissed under his breath. Crouching low, he waded clear of the water, keeping his belly fur on the surface until most of the water had run off his fur. Pikepaw followed, then Duckpaw. But the she-cat moved too fast and sent back a small wave that slapped Rushpaw squarely across the muzzle.

  “Ack!” she spluttered.

  Tanglepaw froze. Behind the trunk of the willow tree, one of the shadows on the path stopped moving. Mistystar had heard the noise, too. She knew they were here; the exercise had failed!

  Behind him, Rushpaw took another cautious step forward, as if she didn’t know the task was already over. Her paw slipped off a smooth stone underwater and she stumbled forward. She flicked her tail as she tried to keep her balance, sending a glittering arc of droplets through the air to land with a splash downstream.

  Tanglepaw was about to tell Rushpaw she was the clumsiest cat in all of the Clans, ever, when he realized that the shadow behind the willow tree had changed shape. It had whisked around, and he could see the outline of two pointed ears facing the other way, in the direction where the drops had landed. The splash had confused Mistystar into thinking the apprentices were downstream!

  “Come on!” whispered Tanglepaw, leaping out of the water. In two swift bounds, he crossed the stones and leaped into the mottled shadows behind the tree. Mistystar spun around, her mouth open with surprise. She didn’t have a chance to speak before all four apprentices bundled on top of her, claws sheathed, knocking her off her paws.

  “Got you!” Duckpaw declared triumphantly.

  “Did we pass the test?” Tanglepaw asked.

  Mistystar pulled her muzzle free from Pikepaw’s tail and puffed, “Yes! You passed! Now get off me!”

  “Oh, sorry.” Tanglepaw jumped up and gave the leader room to stand up and shake herself.

  “Are you all here?” asked Mistystar, craning her neck to count them. “So who made that splash downstream?”

  Rushpaw hung her head. “That was me,” she mewed in a small voice. “I lost my balance and my tail flicked some water.”

  Mistystar stared at her. “It was a brilliant move! Making a noise downstream made me think you were somewhere completely different.”

  Tanglepaw nodded. “I saw from your shadow that you’d turned around, so I realized we could still catch you by surprise.”

  “That was very observant of you, Tanglepaw,” Mistystar praised him. “Now, Rushpaw, do you think you could show us exactly what you did?”

  Rushpaw blinked. “You mean I did something right?”

  “Better than that,” Mistystar told her. “You invented a brand-new tactic for water combat! And I think we’ll call it the Rushpaw Splash!”

  * * *

  WATER COMBAT MOVES

  RiverClan warriors have developed special techniques for fighting in the water. The water techniques are a closely guarded secret among RiverClan cats, so all training is done out of sight, along the streams that run through the territory.

  DOUBLE-FRONT-PAW SLAP-DOWN: Splashes water into the face of the enemy.

  UNDERWATER LEG SWEEP (FRONT OR HIND): The opponent will not see it coming under the water so won’t have a chance to brace himself before losing his balance.

  PUSH-DOWN AND RELEASE: Almost all non-RiverClan cats panic if they are submerged, while RiverClan cats know how to hold their breath underwater. This move can be used to secure a decisive victory, because it’s most likely to make the opponent surrender.

  UNDERWATER CLINCH: Uses warrior’s weight to hold the opponent below the surface, with a firm grip that enables the warrior to bring his enemy spluttering back to the surface before forcing him under again.

  TAIL SPLASH: Temporarily blinds opponent by flicking water in his eyes.

  UNDERWATER PUSH-OFF: Crouching and erupting out of the water into opponent, using surprise and impact to knock him off balance.

  RUSHPAW SPLASH: Using noise of water splashed at a distance to create a decoy, leaving opportunity for a surprise attack.

  * * *

  Hailstar Speaks: The Lost Kits

  Great StarClan, if what I am about to do is wrong, then send me a sign a
nd the kits will stay where they are.”

  I tipped back my head and stared into the star-flecked sky. Silverpelt hung like a frosted cloud in the middle of the sky, an archway of ancient spirits leading to StarClan’s hunting grounds. Nothing moved. StarClan had spoken with their silence: The mission would go ahead.

  I drew a deep breath. I had known I would face challenges when I became RiverClan’s leader, but this was beyond anything I had expected. For my Clan’s sake, I could not fail.

  I padded through the reeds to the warriors’ den. The sound of breathing drifted on the cold air, with the scent of sleeping cats. Would they sleep so easily again after what I was about to ask them to do?

  “Timberfur?” I whispered through the entrance.

  A dark shape stirred inside, and Timberfur’s head popped out. “Hailstar! What is it?”

  “Bring Rippleclaw, Owlfur, and Ottersplash,” I ordered. “Meet me outside the camp.”

  The big brown tom blinked; then his head vanished. I slipped out of the clearing and sat on the narrow pathway between the reeds. I could hear the river sliding past; was it whispering a warning?

  The warriors appeared, shaking sleep from their heads and stretching their paws. Ottersplash looked worried, the white patches on her ginger fur glowing like snow.

  “I want you to come to WindClan with me. We are going to take back Fallowtail’s kits.”

  Four pairs of eyes stared at me in disbelief. Owlfur spoke first. “But…but you agreed that Reedfeather could raise them in WindClan.”

  Ottersplash nodded vigorously. “You said he had equal claim because he was their father, and RiverClan had enough mouths to feed this leaf-bare.”

  I pictured the WindClan deputy’s glow of satisfaction as he led his daughters out of the RiverClan camp. Fallowtail had remained in the nursery, unable to watch. She knew she had broken the warrior code by falling in love with a WindClan cat; she was lucky that I had allowed her to stay in RiverClan after bearing his kits. There was no place for half-Clan cats in RiverClan. I wanted loyalty without question—I deserved it, because I was their leader.

  But for the past moon I had watched Fallowtail slowly dying of grief for her lost kits. It was too great a punishment for her to bear.

  “WindClan will expect this,” Rippleclaw warned, breaking into my thoughts. “Heatherstar announced at the Gathering that they had doubled their border patrols.”

  “Not along the cliff,” I replied. “I’ve been watching for the last three nights. If we approach from the gorge, we should be able to get to the camp without meeting any patrols.”

  “Then we’re going to take the kits by force?” meowed Timberfur.

  I looked at him without blinking. “You think Reedfeather would give them back if we asked nicely?”

  Timberfur turned his head away, his gaze shadowed. I didn’t allow myself time to wonder whether I was testing his warriors’ loyalty beyond their limits. “Follow me,” I ordered.

  We walked in silence to the far border of their territory, where the wooden bridge crossed the river just after it spilled out of the gorge. The water stilled and flattened out in a matter of fox-lengths, as if it were exhausted by its maddened, foaming tumble between the high stone cliffs. On the far bank, a tiny path clung to the bottom of the stone, just above the water. If we could scale the cliff from there, we would be able to enter WindClan’s territory along the unguarded border.

  Owlfur padded alongside me as I crossed the bridge. “Did you tell Fallowtail what you were going to do?”

  I shook my head. “She’ll know when we succeed,” I meowed.

  The climb to the top of the cliff was harder than I’d imagined; our thick fur weighed us down, and Timberfur tore one of his claws when he lost his grip on a paw hold. Only Ottersplash giving him a shove from below stopped him from crashing all the way down to the bottom, where the river foamed over jagged rocks.

  Finally we hauled ourselves, panting, over the edge of the stone wall and lay flat on our bellies, listening. Rippleclaw raised his head. “No scent of any patrols,” he reported, keeping his mouth wide-open to taste the air. The breeze was blowing steadily from the forest, which would serve us well, bringing traces of any WindClan cats in that direction.

  “Which way is the camp?” asked Ottersplash.

  I tried to recall from my only previous visit, when I had been Heatherstar’s guest. “In the center of the moor, I think. It’s in a dip, so you can’t see it as you approach, but there is a circle of gorse around the top.”

  Timberfur exhaled loudly. “So we’re looking for some gorse bushes…on a moor.”

  “I never said it would be easy,” I told him.

  The brown tom flashed a look of anger toward me. “I didn’t expect it to be. I’m a warrior, just like you are. Let’s go.” He strode away from the cliff, heading into the expanse of shadow that distinguished the moor from the night sky. We followed in single file, Owlfur at the rear. Ottersplash’s white markings flared like starlight, and for a moment I wondered if it had been wise to bring her. Unlike the other Clans, WindClan hunted by sight, keeping watch for the flicker of movement that indicated a fleeing rabbit. Their patrols would be looking for intruders as well as listening and tasting the air. But we were deep into the moor now; there was no point sending Ottersplash back from here. Besides, we might need her.

  Suddenly Timberfur froze. “Patrol dead ahead!” he hissed.

  We flattened ourselves against the grass, feeling as exposed as rocks in an empty streambed. A small group of WindClan cats—no more than three or four—appeared briefly over a rise, then disappeared again as the ground sloped downward toward the forest.

  “They didn’t see us,” breathed Rippleclaw. “Let’s keep going.”

  Behind me, I heard Ottersplash take a deep breath and swallow. “There’s stronger scent here. We must be close to the camp.”

  I peered into the darkness, trying to make out a circle of gorse. The moon was little more than a claw scratch in the sky, and the stars shed only the faintest light, so bushes and boulders showed up as patches of shadow against the dark bulk of the moor. But there was a line of bushes over to one side that looked more solid than the rest. Could they be sheltering the camp?

  “That way,” I hissed.

  As we started forward, Rippleclaw asked, “What do you want us to do when we get there?”

  “You and Timberfur deal with the guards while we find the nursery. Ottersplash and Owlfur, you corner the queens, and I’ll get the kits. Once I’ve taken them outside the nursery, Owlfur, you pick up one of the kits and we’ll all make a run for it—but don’t head back to the cliff. We can’t carry the kits that way.”

  “Five of us against an entire Clan?” Owlfur mused. “We’ll need to be lucky.”

  “We’ll make our own luck,” I told him grimly.

  The sharp scent of WindClan grew stronger as we approached the gorse bushes. Pushing through the barrier, I stood at the edge of the shallow dip and looked down at the camp. More bushes screened scoops in the dusty soil that must have made rather drafty dens, and on the far side, a hawthorn tree with low-hanging branches enclosed a nest where the faintest squeaks and rustlings could be heard.

  “That must be the nursery,” I whispered, nodding toward the hawthorn.

  Guards, Timberfur mouthed as two cats appeared at the rim of the hollow. He looked searchingly at me. “How much force do you want us to use?”

  I knew what he was asking. I wasn’t going to tell my warriors to break the warrior code—that had suffered enough already—but I wanted those kits back where they belonged. “Enough.”

  Timberfur nodded.

  The guards were heading toward us but hadn’t seen us yet. Timberfur and Rippleclaw turned and vanished back through the gorse bushes. A moment later, they slipped into view just behind the patrolling cats. Silently, and perfectly in step, they sprang onto the backs of the guards and rolled them into the gorse. Any squawks were quickly muffled; the bushes qu
ivered briefly; then all was still. I pictured my warriors sitting heavily on the WindClan cats, keeping them quiet.

  Lifting my tail to signal to my Clanmates, I raced down the side of the hollow and across the clearing to the hawthorn.

  “Stop! Who’s there?”

  A yowl went up behind me; we’d been spotted. I nodded to Owlfur and Ottersplash, and they plunged through the branches of the hawthorn. At once the queens inside started shrieking and scrabbling to protect the kits. I spun around to face the cat who’d raised the alarm. It was Dawnstripe, her gold-and-cream-striped fur almost white in the starlight.

  “Hailstar!” She gasped. “What are you doing?”

  More cats were emerging from their dens around the hollow; there was no way any of them were going to listen to me. I whirled around and forced my way into the nursery. Inside was solid darkness, muggy and scented. “Ottersplash? Owlfur?” I hissed.

  “Over here,” Owlfur replied from the far corner. His voice sounded muffled, as if he were holding fur in his mouth. “The kits are with me.”

  There was a hiss and paws scrabbled against the earthen floor. “Let me go,” spat the queen. “Those are WindClan kits!”

  “Not anymore,” I growled. Nosing forward, being careful not to tread on any small bundles of fur, I found Fallowtail’s daughters. They were bigger than when I’d last seen them—of course—but they still carried her scent, and the touch of the fur reminded me of her softness. “Graykit? Willowkit? It’s time to come home.”

  I picked one of them up and it let out a squeak.

  There was a snarl from the opposite corner. “Put her down, or you’ll regret it.”

  Ottersplash’s paw landed on the queen’s ear with a smack. “Those kits are ours, and you know it.”

  I couldn’t reply because I had a mouthful of fur. I backed out of the den, shuffling the other kit under my belly with my front paws. Hawthorn branches scraped my pelt; then cold air swept over my haunches. I turned around—and found a line of warriors facing me. Heatherstar stood in the center, her eyes fierce.