During the fifty years following the post-War Armistice between the Opiri and humanity, the world slowly began to heal. As ruins crumbled and wilderness took the place of old towns and cities, both humans and vampires had to make difficult adaptations and hard choices.
In the earlier days of the “cold war,” human Enclaves, usually built out of cities that survived the War, paid tribute to the Opiri in the form of “blood-serfs,” criminals sent to the Opir Citadels in return for the cessation of blood raids on human communities. Citadels and Enclaves continued to spy on one another via half-blood agents—the Opiri’s “Darketans” and the Enclave’s dhampires—operating in the neutral Zone between cities, and skirmishes continued to break out between them, challenging the uneasy truce.
Over time, two significant trends put an increasing strain on the Armistice: the gradual reduction and eventual end to the practice of blood tribute, and the formation of new “mixed” colonies, in which Opiri and humans lived together in relative peace and cooperation.
This cooperation, however, was largely confined to these smaller communities, and communication between Enclaves and Citadels remained erratic until the rise of the Riders, a brotherhood of half-blood horseman whose work it was to carry messages and escort travelers across the western half of the former United States of America. Known for their skill in wilderness survival and fending off rogue Freeblood packs as well as human raiders, the Riders gained a reputation for trustworthiness and complete neutrality. Facilitation of contact and travel among human and Opir cities led to new alliances and discussions of a permanent peace, one in which the “mixed” colonies would provide an example of coexistence across the entire western region.
Thus, the original Conclave was born: a meeting of delegations from every major Citadel, Enclave and mixed colony in the West. The Conclave was to be held in the neutral area of the former city of Albuquerque, New Mexico. It was to be the first such meeting since the signing of the Armistice, and the Riders were to take the role of peacekeepers and upholders of the Conclave’s laws.
Though hope ran high for the success of the Conclave, there were many who resisted the idea of an ultimate peace and the cultural changes that would become necessary to sustain it.
—Alice J. Armstrong
Introduction to A Matter of Blood: A History of the First Conclave
“Can you see who they are?”
Jamie McCullough squinted against the bright April sky, her eyes following Councilor Amos Parks’s pointing finger. “They’re on horseback,” she said to her godfather. “They must be—”
“The Riders,” Senator Greg Cahill said, talking over her. “It’s about time they showed up here.”
Here, Jamie thought. Far from the southern border of the San Francisco Enclave, even beyond the Zone that marked the no-man’s-land between Opir Citadel and human territories.
But people did live in this land, where wild cattle grazed among the pre-War ruins, alongside deer and pronghorn antelope. Small colonies, well-fortified, with mixed human and Opir residents; pure human settlements, always ready to defend themselves against raiders both human and nonhuman. And human and Opiri who stayed on the move, hostile like the Freeblood raiders or unaligned like the Wanderers.
Then there were the Riders. Skilled fighters, neutral in their loyalties, always half-bloods and always male. They were the men who rode fearlessly across the West in their tight-knit bands, carrying messages and escorting travelers and colonists through the dangers of the wilderness, facing down rogues, raiders and wild tribesmen. Both humans and Opiri hired them, sometimes even to communicate with one another.
Today they were coming to escort the San Francisco Enclave delegation to the grand Conclave in the old state of New Mexico, a journey of a thousand miles. With the wagons and frequent stops, it would take about two months of hard travel to reach their goal.
But without the Riders’ protection...
“They’re coming fast,” Greg said, his hand moving to the gun at his hip.
Too fast, Jamie thought. The thundering of hooves was shaking the ground under her boots. By now they should be slowing down, prepared to identify themselves. As they came closer, Jamie noticed that they were wearing hoods.
Riders weren’t full-blood Opiri, who had to protect themselves from the sun. Most of them would subsist on blood and were faster and stronger than ordinary men, but in other ways they were very human.
These horsemen covered their entire bodies under heavy coats and cowls and gloves.
“Raiders,” she said, her voice catching on the word.
“Freebloods,” Amos said, speaking of the wild troops of masterless rogue Opiri. He signaled for the others in the party to retreat to the wagons, while the four armed soldier escorts, led by Sergeant Cho, moved forward to position themselves between the horsemen and the rest of the delegation.
“Jamie!” Greg said, dragging her down behind a wagon. “Do you want to end up as some vampire’s meal?”
She winced at the pressure of his fingers on her upper arm. She mumbled an apology, but Greg had already moved away to shout orders as if he, not Parks, were in charge. The older man, grim-faced, caught Jamie’s eye and nodded. She smiled at her godfather to prove that she wasn’t afraid.
This wasn’t like that other time. She wasn’t alone. She wasn’t a child. And she wasn’t helpless.
Someone pushed a gun into her hand. “You’ve had training,” Sergeant Cho whispered, crouching beside her. “Aim for the heart or between the eyes. Don’t fire wildly—take your time.”
“Don’t worry about me,” Jamie said.
Cho squeezed her shoulder and quickly moved away. Jamie’s hand trembled on the grip. She wasn’t a killer. This was a mission of peace. For it to be born out of violence...
She’d