Chapter One

They were dead.

The once-great Clans of the forest, slaughtered by rogues.

The leaders, dead. Firestar, dead. Leopardstar, dead. Tallstar, dead. Blackfoot, dead.

The deputies, too. Graystripe, Mistyfoot, Deadfoot.

And even the medicine cats. Cinderpelt, Barkface, Mudfur, Runningnose and his apprentice Littlecloud.

Dozens of noble warriors: Sandstorm, Whitestorm, Blackclaw, Onewhisker, Morningflower, Dawncloud, and many more.

The names of the dead ran on and on. Fernpaw. Willowpelt, leaving three kits behind. Shadepelt. Tornear. Mudclaw. Tallpoppy. Runningbrook. Rowanpaw. And yes, the loners Barley and Ravenpaw, dead fighting for their friends and home.

Yet, miraculously, a few survived, fleeing the fight.

Dustpelt pounded desperately through the forest, ignoring the branches that whipped his face, the blood that stained his brown fur, the aching wound that made his leg throb. He ran as fast as his paws could carry him. I have to warn the camp. The rogues are coming. I must warn the camp. He knew there was nothing else he could do, much as he hated fleeing an enemy.

His breath was coming in short gasps. The distance between Fourtrees and the ThunderClan camp had never seemed so vast, nor so difficult to traverse. The brown tabby stumbled as he crossed a stream, landing heavily on his side. Blinded for a moment by water swirling about his head, he forced himself to scramble upright and continue on.

The warrior burst into camp, panting raggedly. A dappled tortoiseshell sprang to her paws, her eyes worried. "Dustpelt, what-"

Dustpelt was gasping so hard he couldn't speak. When he regained his breath, the dusky brown tom blurted out, "The rogues – they've defeated us – killed Firestar – they're coming here next, we've got to run, Specklepelt…"

Specklepelt laid her tail on his shoulder, signalling for calm. She was trembling, though, and he could smell her fear scent which mirrored his own. The elder murmured, her eyes distant, "Firestar dead?" Her voice echoed with sorrow and disbelief.

Dustpelt felt the same pangs of loss, but he knew there was no time for mourning. "Specklepelt – listen! The rogues are coming. They will kill us. We've got to get the other elders and Willowpelt's kits out of here! Firestar left you in charge; he would want – would have wanted - you to fulfil your duty even if he died." His words were loaded with urgency.

Specklepelt gave herself a shake. "You're right," she meowed sadly. In a stronger voice, the tortoiseshell called out, "One-eye! Smallear! Dappletail! Bring the kits out. We're leaving!"

Dustpelt waited impatiently at the entrance of the camp, almost bouncing up and down on his toes with worry and anxiety. StarClan, give us enough time to get away, he prayed.

Then the warrior's sharp ears caught the sound of approaching pawsteps and snarls. Dustpelt tensed, his heartbeat quickening. "Hurry!" he growled, his voice low and urgent. "They're coming!"

More cats hurried out into the clearing. The elders, and three kits. All that was left of ThunderClan, Dustpelt realised. "Come on!" he hissed, not daring to raise his voice lest the rogues heard. They were coming closer, and quickly.

"Wait," old One-eye complained in a reedy voice. The oldest cat in the Clan, she wore a frown on her face. "Why the rush? Where is Firestar?"

"Yes, yes, Dustpelt! Where is Firestar? Did we win the battle?" the liveliest of the three kits poor Willowpelt had left behind – Sorrelkit – mewed eagerly.

Dustpelt felt as though his heart was going to burst out of his chest. His voice made rough with fear, he growled, "I'll explain later. We've got to – "

He was cut off by a terrifying snarl from behind. The warrior whirled, unsheathing claws. Above him loomed a rogue he knew all too well – Jaggedtooth, former warrior of ShadowClan, who had deserted his Clan in favour of Scourge. Without thinking, Dustpelt attacked. Jaggedtooth was a formidable enemy, but nothing mattered except to get the elders and kits to safety. "Run!" the dark brown tom yelled out, slashing at Jaggedtooth's cheek. "Get away!"

Jaggedtooth retaliated, sending Dustpelt tumbling in the dirt. His ears rang from the massive blow the rogue had given him, and he tasted blood, trickling into his mouth from a wound. Yet he staggered to his feet – and gaped in horror as he saw Sorrelkit and her siblings leaping at Jaggedtooth. He knew the kits had been taught some defensive moves, but Jaggedtooth was huge! They would surely be killed! Like him, the elders were frozen, unable to do anything.

The rogue batted Sorrelkit's brother Rainkit away, and sent Sootkit sprawling. Yet Sorrelkit had managed to fasten herself to his neck, and there she hung on, riding his valiantly as he bucked and growled, trying to shake her off. Dustpelt's throat suddenly froze in terror, unable to call out, as another rogue appeared in the camp entrance – and swept Sorrelkit off Jaggedtooth's back with one blow.

The sound of the kit's terrified mewl wakened Dustpelt from his trance. Darting forward, he grabbed the scruff of Sorrelkit's neck, calling out to Speckletail and the others, "Get the kits! Let's get out of here!"

Speckletail snatched up Rainkit, swift despite her age, and another of the elders, Dappletail, carried Sootkit. With Dustpelt leading the way, the ThunderClan cats shot past the startled rogues and into the forest. Even old One-eye and Smallear forced their hobbling paws to carry them quickly.

The five cats and three kits – all that was left of ThunderClan – fled through the forest desperately. Behind them, they could hear the rogues crashing through the undergrowth, giving chase. Dustpelt bounded on in front, constantly looking back to encourage the others and hurry them on. They'll catch us…

He skidded to a stop, realising where they were. Before his paws, the Thunderpath stretched across the ground like a great grey snake. Dustpelt knew they should cross it – but how? Monsters roared continuously over its gritty black surface, their glaring, huge eyes seeming to challenge him. He might be able to dart quickly across to the other side, but the elders and kits would never make it.

Then he remembered. A tunnel slid under the Thunderpath: a safe passage to the other side. He cast around, searching for it. The rogues were coming closer again. Speckletail and the others huddled in a group nearby, their eyes wide and frightened. They were his responsibility: even bossy Speckletail seemed too stunned to lead for once. I won't let them die, he vowed silently. I won't let you down, Firestar. ThunderClan will survive.

At last he found it: a dark, dank opening lined with stone, smelling strongly of garbage and rats. Shivering, the warrior peered into its damp blackness. But he knew it was their only way to safety.

Flicking his tail to beckon the others, Dustpelt hissed, "Over here! We'll go underneath the Thunderpath."

The other cats followed obediently, but as they were entering the tunnel, with Dustpelt guarding the rear, a band of ragged cats appeared form the bushes. The rogues had come, and many of them. The largest, a tall black she-cat, lunged at Dustpelt immediately. He barely avoided a blow that would have ripped his cheek open, and found himself dodging and ducking a multitude of slashes and attacks. Dimly, he noticed the other rogues attacking the elders and kits – they had huddled together and were defending themselves as best as they could, with the kits in the centre – but for him, nothing existed except the fight between him and the black rogue. If he spared so much as a second's attention, he would die.

The warrior suddenly stumbled on a rock. He would have righted himself in an instant, but that instant off balance was just enough for the she-cat to leap at him and knock him off his feet. In battle, everything depended on staying on your feet. Pinned down, Dustpelt stared helplessly up into the murderous eyes of the rogue, eyes that held a promise of StarClan.

Frozen, he waited for the death blow.