Oathkeeper

  MAP

  DEDICATION

  With special thanks to Gillian Philip

  CONTENTS

  Cover

  Map

  Title Page

  Dedication

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Books by Erin Hunter

  Back Ads

  Copyright

  About the Publisher

  PROLOGUE

  A few years earlier . . .

  The sun blazed high and white over Bravelands, steeping the whole savannah in a dazzling paleness. Rivers glittered like thin streaks of silver far below, and the forests were smudges of green. Highcrest’s piercing gaze made out her own shadow, flickering across the golden grasslands; a couple of giraffes tilted up their horned heads to watch the great crowned eagle pass overhead. Their ears swiveled and flicked; then, unthreatened, they returned to browsing on tall acacias.

  Highcrest’s eyes moved on, searching, always searching. Her chicks were hungry, their beaks forever gaping for more food, and she had hunted too long already. The need for prey warred inside her with the urgency to return to the nest, to protect them from daring predators.

  There! Something moved on the grassland far below, a flickering shadow of darker gold, something that bolted heedlessly across the open plain. Perhaps it was fleeing some flesh-eater, but it was too foolish, or too panicked, to glance skyward for a different danger. Highcrest adjusted her wings, stooping through the air to follow the creature’s path.

  It was a lion cub, she could see now. It stumbled every few pawsteps, but picked itself up and fled again, as if a pack of jackals were on its stubby tail. Highcrest could see no predators in pursuit—the cub must have lost them some time ago, if they ever existed—yet still it hurtled on, clearly terrified.

  Highcrest felt no pity for the exhausted little lion. Far from here, her own offspring waited for her, beaks open, bellies empty. This lost and frightened cub, prideless and motherless, would be an easy kill.

  Easier, in fact, than even she had thought. As she cocked her head and swooped lower, the small lion stumbled again. This time it could not regain its footing and tripped headlong over its forepaws, crashing hard to the dry earth.

  Silent, Highcrest angled her wings and dived. The cub lay immobile—it must have struck its fragile skull on one of the scattered rocks; perhaps it was dead already. Truly, the Great Spirit looked kindly on Highcrest and her chicks today!

  Highcrest plummeted and sank her extended talons into the cub’s limp flanks. Through her claws she could feel the weak thrum of blood within it; it was still alive, then, but there was nothing it could do now. With strong beats of her broad wings, she took to the skies again, the cub gripped in her talons.

  The prey was heavier than her usual hares and hyraxes, but Highcrest was determined to hang on to this Spirit-given bounty. Although her wing muscles ached, she flew on grimly, rising as steeply as she could into the high currents of air. By the time her nest came in sight, balanced on a high kigelia branch in a clump of woodland, she was exhausted but exhilarated.

  A little awkwardly, she flapped down, dropping her burden with a thump onto the tangle of wood. Instantly the chicks were alert and excited, eyes bright and beaks wide, their squeals of hunger high-pitched. Yet Highcrest could not help herself—she took a moment to call to her mate, desperate to show him their prize. Flexing her sore wings, she hopped a little way along the branch, letting out a triumphant screech to call him back to the nest. This food would not only satisfy their chicks; it would last the grown birds for days.

  Behind her, near where the branch met the tree’s sturdy trunk, something rustled. Sharply, Highcrest jerked her head around.

  The cub was moving. It blinked and swayed, hauling itself onto its forepaws, mewling weakly.

  She could not risk it falling, perhaps to be snatched by some other predator. Highcrest hopped back along the branch, opening her powerful curved beak to tear at its neck, to put an end to its pitiful struggles.

  And then a face burst through the foliage: a long-snouted, bright-eyed, intelligent face. Its amber eyes glittered as they met Highcrest’s.

  Baboon! With a shrill cry of anger, Highcrest spread her wings to their fullest extent, her shadow looming over the baboon. The creature did not even flinch. Peeling back its lips to expose its long yellow fangs, it gave a screech of mocking defiance. Then, right under her broad wings, it sprang forward and snatched up the lion cub by the scruff of the neck.

  The baboon was gone before Highcrest’s lunge reached it; her beak raked at nothing but twigs and foliage. With a scream of frustration, she flapped her wings, but the only sign of the baboon was a few dislodged dry leaves that rattled down toward the earth far below.

  The prey was gone; the hunt must begin again. There was no point in rage or regret.

  So much for the Great Spirit’s favor!

  CHAPTER ONE

  Damp trails of gray smoke curled into the blue sky and drifted across the grassland to dissipate into the heat haze. The forest, once so lush and green, was a broken and blackened waste of mud and ruined stumps. The sudden rain had passed, leaving an acrid reek.

  Fearless stood very still, his head high, the tip of his tail twitching. Behind him, his new pride waited in silence; he could feel their presence without having to turn, as if their force flowed into him.

  And he needed that silent strength. Before him stood the black-maned brute everyone had said was dead. Fearless had never believed it, of course. He had known this creature still lived—sensed it in his blood—a malevolent presence lingering in Bravelands. The beast who had killed his father, Loyal; the murderer who had tricked his adoptive father, Gallant; the savage who had watched in approval as his mother, Swift, was blinded.

  Titan. The lion I have sworn to kill.

  Those black, mad eyes met his, and Fearless’s body shook with hatred. He did not look away.

  Behind Titan, too, stood a supportive pride, but these were not lions. Hackles high, sharp small teeth bared, yellow eyes glowing with malice, they were the golden wolves who had spread blood and havoc across Bravelands for the last few moons. As they prowled and paced, they had the powerful elegance of lions, and Fearless knew the reason: that aura they had was stolen from the lions they had killed, the ones whose spirits they had consumed.

  Titan’s soft, menacing growl broke the silence. “You’ve grown, Fearless.”

  “Yes.” Fearless’s voice was stronger and clearer than he’d worried it would be. “Grown enough to fulfill my oath, Titan. I was only a cub when I swore to kill you, but I mean to keep my promise.” He tightened his shoulders and bared his teeth. “I challenge you, murderer. Fight me. Here and now.”

  Before he had taken two paces toward Titan, he heard the in-drawn breaths of his pride.

  “Wait!” gasped Ruthless.

  A small figure dashed to Titan’s side: Menace, his brattish cub and Ruthless’s own sister. She drew back her muzzle in a contemptuous sneer, revealing her small, sharp fangs.

  �
��Let me kill him for you, Father.”

  Titan glanced down at her, his eyes burning with delight. “Truly, you are my cub, Menace. But this fight is not for you. Back!”

  “Yes, back,” snarled Fearless, glaring at the cub who had once been under his protection. She had always been arrogant and self-serving, but there was a new cruelty about her now, and he had no time for her. “No more games!”

  “Ha!” Titan’s fangs gleamed yellow, dripping with slaver. “Indeed, Fearless: no more games. You would be wise to turn and flee. Run away, like the terrified cub you were when I killed Gallant. You are still that cub, however much you posture and snarl. Fearless, the ill-named coward who has no place in Bravelands!” Titan’s eyes gleamed with madness. “You think you can defeat me now? When I am stronger than I have ever been? My heart and belly are filled with the spirits of those I’ve killed. Their strength is mine. Run and hide again with baboons. You have less chance against me now than you did then!”

  Fearless growled, deep in his throat. “Make your speeches, Titan. They won’t help you.” He paced deliberately forward.

  “Well, if you insist.” Titan hunched his powerful shoulders. “I’ll take your heart as I took the heart of the Great Parent.”

  One paw still raised, he felt it tremble. Thorn? What?

  “That’s right,” growled Titan. “That baboon who claimed to lead all of Bravelands? A tasty heart, so full of spirit.”

  Fearless’s throat felt dry and tight, and his belly twisted. Thorn was dead? The baboon who had been his friend and ally and confidant his whole life?

  It can’t be true—

  Yet he knew from Titan’s evil snarl that the brute was not lying. Rage and grief burned in his gut, and he broke into a sudden charge, streaking across the plain to bury his claws in Titan’s neck.

  Sleek yellow shapes darted immediately to their black-maned leader, surrounding and guarding him, their skinny paws kicking up dust that rose in clouds. Fearless’s throat burned and his eyes stung, and for a moment his paws faltered, but he ran grimly on. He felt sharp fangs sink into his shoulder and right flank, but he shook the wolves away, swiping one aside with a powerful paw. It yelped and tumbled into the dust, but more took its place, biting and clawing.

  In the chaos, dust rose and swirled, obscuring Fearless’s vision. Furious, he growled and struck out, dislodging more wolves. Through the gloom drifted Titan’s vicious taunts.

  “You couldn’t save any of them, could you, Fearless? Not your father, not your dear friend Loyal. Not your mother. You couldn’t even save that baboon!”

  Follow his voice, thought Fearless. Lucky that he can’t resist talking. With a savage blow he struck away another wolf and bounded toward the sound of Titan’s taunts. Off to his left something was happening, the yelps and frightened growls of a smaller lion under attack from the wolves—but he couldn’t afford to lose his focus. The others of his pride could deal with that. Fearless was so close to Titan now; the brute’s outline loomed in the murk, and Fearless coiled his haunches to launch his attack.

  Menace sprang out of the dust clouds to block his way. Her eyes glittered.

  “Attack my father? Or save Useless?”

  Fearless scrabbled to a halt, shocked.

  He heard an amused growl from Titan. “An unnecessary game, my cub, but a fun one. Let’s see what he does, shall we? Choose wisely, Fearless.”

  Menace swung her small head to yelp at a group of wolves.

  “Kill him! Kill my traitor of a brother!”

  For a moment Fearless stood in agonized indecision, staring. That commotion he’d seen from the corner of his eye: two wolves had separated young Ruthless from the pride and were dragging him to a bare patch of ground, their teeth in his leg and side. His eyes rolled wildly with terror.

  “Titan! Call them off!” roared Fearless. “Even you wouldn’t kill your own cub!”

  “Ruthless is no longer my cub,” growled Titan, pacing forward. “He sided with my enemy. My spirit-pride may do as they please with him.”

  Menace smirked at Fearless in vicious triumph. Howling with delight, more wolves fell on the cowering Ruthless. Fearless could hear his pride behind him, roaring with fury as they leaped forward. But he was the closest to Ruthless, and he knew he had no choice; he twisted away from Titan and sprang at the wolves.

  Snapping, tearing, and clawing, Fearless could only channel his frustration into his attack on the golden wolves. He felt his fangs rip into warm flesh, his paws slam against skulls and spines, and one by one the wolves tumbled away, yelping and whimpering. Through his fog of blood-rage, Fearless became aware of the rest of his pride, joining him to attack the wolves without mercy.

  Now the fight was truly unequal, and it was only moments before the surviving wolves turned tail and fled, leaving a battered and bloodied Ruthless panting on the ground. Yet when Fearless spun back toward Titan, the black-maned brute and his daughter had disappeared.

  Fearless bounded toward the place where Titan had stood. There was nothing there but pawprints, yellow mangled grass, and the stench of evil.

  Throwing back his head, he gave a roar of fury.

  “You’ll face me, you coward. One day, you’ll face me!”

  And on that day, Titan, you’ll die.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Sky’s trunk tingled with the reek of burned timber and vegetation. The beautiful forest was destroyed, the trunks nothing but charred skeletons, and the earth was blackened mud beneath her feet; yet Sky felt a deep, joyous hope. Her life-mate, Rock, stood at her shoulder, his body pressed against hers for support.

  Bravelands will recover, she thought, closing her eyes to better sense Rock’s warmth and the thrum of his heartbeat against her hide. And so will Rock. He lives, and I love him. That’s all that matters. Gently she touched the tip of her trunk to one of the raw scars on his shoulder.

  “Your wounds must hurt,” she murmured.

  “No,” he said softly, leaning his head closer into hers. “Not badly. And they don’t matter, now that we’ve found each other again. I’ve missed you, Sky, so very much.”

  “And I—” Something stirred between Sky’s shoulder blades, and she twisted her head to peer back at the tiny baboon that crouched there, half asleep. “Rock,” she murmured, “I wish we could stay here together, for longer. But we must begin searching for a mother for this orphan. She needs one, and quickly, if she’s to survive.”

  “We’ll save her,” Rock replied. “I think we owe that to the Great Spirit. But where will you find a nursing baboon who will take her? It’s almost certain that this little one’s mother is dead.”

  Sky’s mind was already racing. Taking the baby to a rival troop would be risky—males had been known to kill offspring from other troops—but they needed to find a nursing mother.

  “Female baboons are kind, I know that,” she said, softly.

  “Female elephants are kind, too,” rumbled Rock, peering down at a fallen tree in amusement. “After all, you’ve looked after these little strangers since their mother died.”

  Nimble and Lively, the two young cheetahs, were not so little anymore, thought Sky as she watched them fondly. Their fluffy mantles had all but molted away, and they were growing long-legged and sleek. Yet they still nosed and pawed around the charred trunk like excited cubs. Sky thought they were playing a game, but then Nimble glanced up at Rock. “There’s something trapped under here.”

  “Really?” Rock cocked his ears forward; one of them was badly torn where it had caught on a smoldering, jutting branch. “Let’s have a look. Move aside a bit, Lively; I don’t want to trample you.”

  Obediently, Lively backed away, her nostrils still flaring with curiosity. Rock butted the tree hard with his upper trunk, and when Sky joined in to help, the two elephants at last dislodged the huge piece of timber from its resting place. It came suddenly loose and bumped and rocked to a halt a little way away.

  Almost at once, shapes moved in a hollow beneath wher
e the tree had lain. A long nose probed the air, drawing in a delighted breath. A slender head followed the exposed snout, and then an adult anteater emerged from the hidden cavity, followed by its young.

  “Thank you!” she grunted, nodding eagerly to Sky and Rock. “We hid in our den from the fire, but this tree collapsed and blocked the entrance. We’re grateful you came along.”

  “Thank the young cheetahs,” said Rock. “They’re the ones who found you.”

  The anteater nodded to the cubs, a little warily. “Thank you, then. It was terribly hot in there.”

  “The tree probably saved you from the fire, though,” chirped Lively.

  “True, true,” agreed the anteater, and the whole family waddled away toward the savannah, noses snuffling the breeze. “Come along, pups. We’ll find some tasty termites and you’ll feel much better. . . .”

  The anteater’s voice faded as the elephants and the young cheetahs watched them go. Sky smiled and nudged Rock.

  “You see? There’s hope.”

  “Sometimes,” he agreed. “The forest will live again, too. This has happened before; I remember the older bulls telling us about fires. They’re terrible things, but they can’t ever destroy Bravelands completely.”

  “Rock’s right!” mewed Nimble, rising onto his hind paws and peering upward. “Look, there are birds coming back already.” He batted a paw half-heartedly, as if he might swipe one of the blue starlings from the sky.

  “And soon the vultures will come, too, and clear the dead,” Sky added. She lowered her head sadly, thinking of the animals that had died so horribly. But life and death were the way of Bravelands, and Rock was right: the forest would send out green shoots and grow back to its old lush glory.

  Life and death are the way of Bravelands . . . and terrible things happened every day, with no warning, no mercy. Sky turned abruptly to Rock. “I’m sorry,” she told him.

  “For what?” He looked surprised.

  “I’m sorry for ever believing you were capable of killing River.” Sky pressed her head against his shoulder, twining her trunk with his.