The Darkest Hour

But Scourge was fast. He flung himself between Firestar’s outstretched paws and aimed for his belly, trying to rip him open with the same flick that had destroyed Tigerstar.

Firestar barely drew back in time. Now he was on the defensive, trying to avoid the gashing claws and still get close enough to Scourge to land a blow of his own. He managed to grip the BloodClan leader near the base of his tail, and the two cats rolled over and over on the grass, a shrieking whirl of teeth and claws. When they broke apart Firestar saw his own blood spattering the grass, and knew he had to finish this fight quickly before he weakened again.

When the old trick came back into his mind he scarcely believed it could work against a fighter like Scourge. But he could think of nothing else. He dug his front paws into the bloodstained turf, and crouched in front of his enemy as if he were giving in, every muscle tensed in readiness.

Scourge let out a yowl of triumph and leaped at him. In the same heartbeat, Firestar hurled himself upward, crashing into Scourge’s belly and thrusting him backward onto the ground. His claws slashed through Scourge’s pelt and his teeth met in the black cat’s throat until he tasted the gush of warm blood. Firestar was dimly aware of Scourge’s claws flailing viciously at his shoulders but he held on, raking his enemy’s belly with his hind paws until the blows that were falling on him grew weaker.

Firestar shook his head, scattering thick drops of blood from his eyes. He released Scourge’s throat and drew back to deal the death blow from an upraised paw. But there was no need. Scourge’s eyes were fixed on him, dark pits of hatred, and his body jerked convulsively. He tried to snarl defiance, but the only sound was blood bubbling in his torn throat. His twitching limbs grew still and his eyes stared sightlessly at the sky.

Flanks heaving, his breath coming in agonizing gasps, Firestar gazed down at his dead enemy. Who knew where this cat’s spirit was heading? Not to the ranks of StarClan, that was for sure.

A skinny black-and-white BloodClan cat was battling with Tallstar a couple of tail-lengths away. When he caught sight of Scourge’s lifeless body, the BloodClan warrior froze, staring, and scarcely seemed to notice when Tallstar raked his claws down the side of his head. “Scourge!” he gasped. “No—no!”

He backed away, then turned and fled, blundering into another BloodClan warrior as he made for the bushes. The second warrior spat furiously and launched himself at Firestar, but before he could attack he too saw the body of his dead leader.

A terrible wailing broke from him. “Scourge! Scourge is dead!”

As the cry rose above the screeches of battling cats, Firestar saw the warriors of BloodClan falter and stop fighting. As they realized that they had lost their leader, they turned and fled. To Firestar’s dazed eyes, the Twolegplace cats seem e d to have shrunk. They were no longer fearsome warriors, but ordinary cats who had no place in the forest: slower than WindClan, duller than RiverClan, scrawnier than ShadowClan. All their menace was gone, and with a cry of triumph the forest cats surged after them and chased them out of the hollow.

Numb with exhaustion, Firestar hardly had the strength to understand that his cats—LionClan—had won. The forest belonged to StarClan once again.

Chapter 30

The clearing fell silent. Blood glistened on the grass as cold sunlight sliced through the trees. Cloudtail struggled to his paws and staggered over to stand beside Firestar, looking down at Scourge’s lifeless black body.

“You did it, Firestar,” he panted. “You saved the forest.”

Firestar gave the young warrior a lick. “We all did,” he meowed. He thought back to the trouble his kin had caused when he first arrived in the forest. In those days, Firestar would never have imagined he could have felt so proud of his wayward nephew. “Go and find Cinderpelt, and get yourself something for those wounds.”

Cloudtail nodded and limped off across the clearing.

Looking around, Firestar saw that warriors from each of the four Clans were gathering around their medicine cats at the edge of the clearing. One had become four again; LionClan was no more.

At first he couldn’t see Sandstorm, and he felt panic welling up inside him. He was not sure he could bear it if he had lost her. Then he saw her stumbling wearily across the clearing. The fur along one flank was stiff with drying blood, but Firestar could see that her injuries were not serious.

“Thank StarClan!” he breathed.

He crossed the clearing in two bounds, and Sandstorm turned her head to look at him, her green gaze filled with relief. “We did it,” she murmured. “We drove out BloodClan.”

Firestar suddenly felt light-headed, as if the whole of Fourtrees were spinning around him.

“Steady,” urged Sandstorm, supporting him with her shoulder. “You’ve lost a lot of blood. Come and see Cinderpelt.”