"Sandstar," meowed Silverstream. "I want to ask you something."
Sandstar was crouching by the nettle patch. He had just seen Sorreltail leaving at the head of the evening patrol, and now he was eating his share of fresh-kill before rounding up a patrol of his own for an extra check on the Shadowclan border.
"Sure," he replied. "What is it?"
Silverstream crouched beside him, but before he could speak Rowanpaw came stalking out of the elders' den, her head and her tail held high as she headed for the gorse tunnel. Her amber eyes blazed with anger. Squirrelpaw emerged behind her, his jaws clamped on a bundle of bedding moss. He looked worried.
"Rowanpaw!" Sandstar called. "What's the matter?"
For a heartbeat he thought the apprentice was going to ignore him. Then she veered sharply to stand in front of him. "Speckletail!" she spat. "If ever a cat asked to have his fur clawed off—"
"You shouldn't talk like that about an elder," Sandstar rebuked her. "Speckletail's given good service to the Clan and we should respect that."
"What about a bit of respect for me?" Rowanpaw was so furious she seemed to have forgotten she was talking to her leader. "Just because I was a little late going to clear out the old bedding, Speckletail said that Goldenstar had never wanted to serve the elders either, and he could see I was going to turn out just like my father." She scraped her claws on the sandy floor of the clearing as if she were picturing the old tom-s fur. "It's not the first time he's said things, either. I don't see why I should have to put up with it!"
While she was speaking, Squirrelpaw had come to join them, putting down the moss he was carrying. "You know Speckletail's joints are aching because of the cold weather," he meowed.
"You're not my mentor!" Rowanpaw flared up at her brother. "Don't tell me what to do."
"Calm down, Rowanpaw," Sandstar mewed. He wanted to reassure her that no cat believed she would end up a murderer and traitor like her father, but he knew that wasn't entirely true. "You're doing very well as an apprentice, and you're going to make a great warrior. Sooner or later the Clan will see that."
"That's what I've been telling her," Squirrelpaw meowed, and added to his sister, "We've got to live down what Goldenstar did. That's the only way the Clan will believe in our loyalty."
"Some cats believe in it already," Silverstream put in, and Squirrelpaw flashed him a grateful glance.
The worst of Rowanpaw's fury was fading, though her amber eyes still burned. With a toss of her head she turned away, flinging her parting words over her shoulder as she stalked toward the gorse tunnel. "I'm going to fetch some fresh moss."
"I'm sorry, Sandstar," Squirrelpaw murmured when she had gone. "But Rowanpaw's right to be upset."
"I know," Sandstar reassured him. "If I can catch Speckletail at a good moment, I'll have a word with him."
"Thanks, Sandstar." Squirrelpaw dipped his head in gratitude, picked up his moss, and hurried after his sister.
Sandstar gazed worriedly after the two apprentices. He must talk to Speckletail, he decided, and soon. Constantly taunting the young cats about their parentage was not the way to ensure their loyalty to Thunderclan.
Realizing that Silverstream was still waiting patiently beside him, he mewed, "Okay, tell me what's on your mind."
"It's my kits," Silverstream confessed. "Ever since the Gathering, I can't get them out of my mind. Blackclaw and Stonefur weren't there, so I couldn't ask them for news, but now that Goldenstar has essentially taken over Riverclan, I'm sure my kits are in danger."
Sandstar took a bite of vole and chewed thoughtfully. "I don't see why they should be at risk more than any other cat," he replied, swallowing his mouthful. "Goldenstar will want to look after all the apprentices to guarantee a strong fighting force."
Silverstream didn't look reassured. "But Goldenstar knows who their father is," he pointed out. "He hates me, and I'm worried that he'll take it out on Featherpaw and Brookpaw."
Sandstar realized that Silverstream had a fair point about Goldenstar's hostility. "What would you like to do?"
Silverstream blinked nervously, "I want you to come with me across the river and bring them back to Thunderclan."
Sandstar stared at his friend. "Are you completely mouse-brained? You're asking your Clan leader to stroll into Riverclan territory and steal a couple of apprentices?"
Silverstream scraped his forepaw on the ground. "Well, if you put it like that..."
"How else would you put it?" Sandstar tried to control his shock, but Silverstream's suggestion was too close to Brokentail's old crime of stealing kits. If Sandstar agreed and Riverclan found out about it, they would be justified in attacking Thunderclan. And with Shadowclan to help them, that was a risk Sandstar couldn't take.
"I knew you wouldn't listen." Silverstream turned and began to retreat, his tail drooping.
"I am listening. Silverstream, come back and let's think about this." As Silverstream stopped, Sandstar went on: "You don't know that Featherpaw and Brookpaw are in danger. And they're apprentices now, not kits. They have the right to decide their own future. What if they want to stay in Riverclan?"
"I know." Silverstream sounded despairing. "Don't worry, Sandstar. I understand there's nothing you can do to help."
"I didn't say that." Against all his better judgment, Sandstar knew he couldn't stand by and do nothing to help his friend. Silverstream pricked his ears, half-hopeful, as Sandstar went on: "Suppose we go over there quietly, just the two of us, and check on them? If they're okay, then you won't need to worry any more. If they're not, I'll tell them there's a place for them in Thunderclan, if that's what they choose."
Silverstream's blue eyes had begun to glow as Sandstar spoke. "That's great!" he meowed. "Thanks, Sandstar. Can we go now?"
"If you like. Let me finish this vole first. You find Brindleface and tell him he's in charge of the camp. But don't tell him where we're going," he added quickly.
Silverstream bounded off to the warriors' den while Sandstar swallowed the last few gulps of vole and swiped his tongue over his mouth. By the time he had finished, Silverstream had reappeared and the two friends headed for the mouth of the gorse tunnel.
Reaching it, however, they stopped short as a familiar black and white shape slipped into the clearing.
"Patchpaw!" Sandstar exclaimed happily. "It's good to see you."
"It's good to see you," Patchpaw responded, touching noses in greeting with Sandstar and then with Silverstream. "Silverstream, I haven't see you in moons! How are you?"
"I'm fine. It's easy to see you're doing well," he added, eyeing Patchpaw's glossy black and white pelt.
"I came to pay my respects to Oakstar," Patchpaw explained. "You remember, Sandstar, you said I could."
"Yes, of course." Sandstar glanced at Silverstream, whose paws were working urgently in his haste to be off. "Patchpaw, can you go and find Cinderpelt? He'll show you the place where Oakstar is buried. Silverstream and I are just off on a mission."
"That sounds like the old days!" meowed Patchpaw, half enviously. "What is it this time?"
"We're going over to Riverclan to check on my kits," Silverstream told her in a rush. "I'm worried about them, now that Goldenstar is taking over."
Patchpaw's shocked look reminded Sandstar that she knew nothing of the recent developments in the forest. Rapidly he told the black and white cat what Goldenstar had announced at the last Gathering.
"But that's a disaster!" Patchpaw hissed when he had finished. "Is there anything I can do to help? I could come with you."
Her eyes were gleaming. Sandstar guessed Patchpaw was excited by the prospect of adventure. How different she was now from the nervous apprentice she had once been, bullied by her fierce mentor, Goldenstar!
"All right," he meowed, trusting his instincts that it would be good to have Patchpaw with them. "We'll be glad to have you."
As he bounded through the forest, his two oldest friends by his side, Sandstar felt his mind flood with memories of how they had trained and hunted together as apprentices. For a short time he could almost imagine that those days had returned, that he had shed his responsibilities like falling leaves and was young and carefree again.
But he knew that this impossible. He was Clan leader now, and he could never escape from his duty to the cats who depended on him.
The sun had gone down by the time that Sandstar and his friends reached the edge of the forest. Warning Silverstream and Patchpaw to stay back, Sandstar crept through the undergrowth until he could look out over the river.
In front of him lay the stepping stones, the easiest route into Riverclan territory. As Sandstar peered at the cold, gray water, he caught a strong scent of cats—Riverclan and Shadowclan mixed. A patrol was making its way along the opposite bank. They were too far away for Sandstar to be sure which cats they were, but he could not see the black and blue-gray pelts of Blackclaw and Stonefur.
He felt a pang of disappointment. If either of their friends had been near the border, Silverstream could have asked them for news and the matter could have ended there. Now they would have to go right into Riverclan territory.
Sandstar knew he was risking everything on slipping in and slipping out again quietly, unobserved. If it were ever found out that a Clan leader had trespassed on another Clan's territory, he would be in trouble. But he knew that he had to do it for Silverstream.
The silver tabby warrior had crept up bride him. "What's the matter?" he whispered. "Why are we waiting here?"
Sandstar angled his ears toward the patrol. A moment later they disappeared into a reed bed and their scent slowly faded.
"Okay, let's go," Sandstar meowed.
Leading the way, he leaped from one stepping stone to another across the black, swiftly flowing water. He thought back to the floods of last leaf-bare, when he and Silverstream had almost drowned saving the lives of two of Blackclaw's kits. Leopardstar had conveniently forgotten that now, Sandstar realized, as well as how the two Thunderclan warriors had helped the starving cats of Riverclan by taking them fresh-kill from their own hunting grounds.
But there was no point in thinking about that now. Reaching the far bank, Sandstar slid into the shelter of a clump of reeds and checked once again that no enemy cats were near. All he could scent was the traces of the patrol, steadily growing fainter.
Treading softly, he made his way upriver toward the Riverclan camp. Silverstream and Patchpaw followed, silent as shadows.
Suddenly a now scent drifted on the breeze. Sandstar paused, his whiskers twitching. His eyes widened as he recognized the reek of carrion, crow-food that had rotted for days until its foul stench poisoned the air.
"Ugh! What's that?" growled Patchpaw, forgetting the need for silence.
Sandstar swallowed the bile that rose into his throat. "I don't know. I'd say it was a foxhole, but there's not scent of fox."
"It stinks, whatever it is," Silverstream muttered. "Come on, Sandstar, we need to keep going before some cat catches us."
"No," Sandstar meowed. "I know you're worried about your kits, Silverstream, but this is too strange. We have to investigate."
A few tail-lengths ahead, a tiny stream flowed sluggishly into the main river. Sandstar turned to follow it through more reeds. The stench grew stronger, and beneath the smell of crow-food he began to pick up the scent of many cats, a mixture of Shadowclan and Riverclan like the patrol. He halted and signaled for his friends to do the same as he began to make out noises from somewhere ahead: movement in the reeds and the voices of cats mingling together.
"What is this?" Silverstream whispered. "We're nowhere near the camp."
Sandstar flicked the tip of his tail for silence. At least the stench would mask their Thunderclan scent and make it easier for them to stay hidden.
More cautiously than ever Sandstar crept on again until the reeds began to thin out and he came to the edge of a clearing. Flattening himself against the damp ground he crawled as far forward as he dared and looked out.
At once he had to clamp his teeth hard to keep back a yowl of shock and anger. The stream ran along one side of the clearing, its near-stagnant waters clogged by the remains of fresh-kill carelessly flung there and left to rot. Cats crouched on the bank, tearing at prey. But that was not what had roused Sandstar's fury.
Opposite his hiding place, on the far side of the clearing was a vast hill of bones. They gleamed like stripped branches in the last of the watery daylight, some tiny shrew bones hardly bigger than teeth, others as big as the leg bone of a fox or a badger.
Icy trembling seized Sandstar's body. For a heartbeat he thought he was back in his dream at Fourtrees. He remembered the blood that had come oozing out of that hill of bones, and longed to flee in terror. But this was far worse than the dream because Sandstar knew that it was happening now, in the real world. And crouched on top of the pile, his fur almost white against the sun-bleached remains, was Goldenstar, leader of the new united Clan.
Sandstar forced himself to stay hidden. He had to find out what Goldenstar was doing. Silverstream and Patchpaw crept forward to crouch beside him. Patchpaw's fur bristled, and Silverstream looked as if he were going to be sick.
After the first shock ebbed, Sandstar examined the scene more closely. The hill was made up of only prey bones, not mixed with cat bones like the one in his dream. On one side of it stood the Shadowclan deputy, Blackfoot. On the other side was Leopardstar. His gaze flicked nervously back and forth across the clearing. Sandstar wondered if he regretted what had happened to his Clan, and he guessed that his ambition to make his Clan strong had blinded him to Goldenstar's real nature. But whatever the former Riverclan leader felt, it was too late for him to go back now.
"I can't see my kits," Silverstream whispered, a breath of sound close to Sandstar's ear.
Blackclaw and Stonefur weren't there either, Sandstar realized. In fact, most of the cats in the clearing came from Shadowclan, though he spotted the Riverclan warriors Mistyfoot and Heavystep. There was no sign of either medicine cats, and Sandstar wondered if that was significant.
He was still watching, too stunned to know what to do next, when Goldenstar rose to his paws. A few small bones rattled down the side of the hill. The pale tabby's eyes blazed in the fading light as he let out a triumphant yowl.
"Cats of Tigerclan, gather here around the Bonehill for a Clan meeting!"
Immediately the cats in the clearing approached the hill, crouching low in respect. Others appeared from the reeds.
"He must have built that hill to look like the Highrock." Patchpaw murmured. "So he can look down on his Clan."
The pale tabby waited until his warriors were all in place and then announced, "It is time for the trial to begin. Fetch the prisoners!"
Sandstar exchanged a bewildered look with Silverstream. Where had Goldenstar found prisoners? Had he already mounted an attack on Windclan?
At Goldenstar's order, a Shadowclan warrior—Jaggedtooth, who had been one of Brokentail's rogues—vanished into the reeds. She returned a few moments later dragging another cat with her. At first Sandstar did not recognize the skinny gray warrior, her fur unkempt and one ear shredded and bleeding. Then, as Jaggedtooth pushed her into the circle of cats beneath the Bonehill, Sandstar realized it was Stonefur.
Sandstar felt Silverstream stiffen beside him, and put out a warning paw for his friend not to give them away. Silverstream's ears twitched but he stayed still and silent, watching.
The reeds parted again. This time Sandstar knew at once the cat who stepped into the clearing, her fur sleek and her head raised proudly. It was Darkstripe. Traitor! Sandstar thought, his belly clenching in anger.
More movement in the reeds heralded the arrival of another Shadowclan warrior who was shepherding two smaller cats, one a silver gray tabby and the other with thick brown tabby fur. They were as thin as Stonefur, their steps unsteady as they staggered into the clearing. Huddling together in the shadow of the Bonehill, they looked around them with wide, scared eyes.
An icy chill gripped Sandstar's muscles. The two young cats were Silverstream's kits, Featherpaw and Brookpaw.