Читать книгу Twilight Crossing - Susan Krinard - Страница 9

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

Chapter 1

“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 barely finished the thought when the first horse barreled past her, hooves kicking up clods of dirt as the air filled with the smell of horse sweat and leather, and a sharper scent she thought must be the Opir rider himself. He didn’t stop to accost her, but a moment later she heard a cry and a shot. More horses flashed by; more shots followed, but the shouts were more of anger and defiance than pain.

Finally it was her turn. The horse reared up beside her, nostrils flaring, while its rider’s eyes seemed to burn down on her from beneath his hood. She raised the gun, and the raider knocked it out of her hand with no effort at all.

“Please,” she said, addressing him as calmly as she knew how. “I don’t mean you any harm.”

The horseman laughed. It was an ugly sound. He swept down and grabbed her arm, pulling her halfway into the saddle. His hot breath beat on the back of her neck. She closed her eyes, preparing herself for the bite.

It didn’t come. He wheeled his mount around and rode away from the wagon, pinning her in place against him. When he stopped and let her slide to the ground, it was clear that the raiders had won.

Jamie counted. Five raiders, and ten in the delegate party. All ten were still alive, though one of the soldiers, Corporal Delgado, was lying on her side, nursing her arm. Three of the raiders were busy binding the wrists of their captives while the other two remained on their mounts, rifles resting on their thighs.

But Jamie saw no blood, except the little on the soldier’s arm. The raiders had won almost without trying.

They’re keeping us in good condition so that they can get the most out of us, Jamie thought, too numb to feel fear. This was a disaster of the highest order. Not only had the delegation been stopped before it truly started its journey, but now its members would serve as a food source for the raiders...kept alive for God knew how long, until they were too weak to keep donating blood. And then...

“This isn’t necessary,” she said, speaking clearly and loudly enough for everyone to hear. “We’ll be happy to share our blood with you until our escorts arrive.”

Her godfather, hands already bound, gave her a warning look. Greg’s face was dark with anger, and the soldiers stared at her as if she’d gone crazy.

The presumed leader of the raiders, one of the two watching on horseback, turned the black circle of his hood toward her. “It is a great comfort to know that you’re so willing to serve,” he said mockingly. “We would not wish to force you.”

“We are expecting others,” she said, refusing to let herself be intimidated. “Riders. Perhaps you’ve heard of them. They call themselves the Brotherhood, and they’re very good fighters. But there’s no need for more violence, if you’ll only accept our offer and then leave us in peace.”

The leader of the raiders whistled through his teeth. “You speak for all these humans?”

“I speak for them,” Parks said, his wispy gray hair floating in the breeze like a halo. “I’m President of the City Council of the San Francisco Enclave. We’ll give you whatever you need.”

Speaking a language Jamie knew to be rooted in ancient Greek, the leader addressed his mounted companion. The other Opiri gave an appreciative laugh.

“Put no faith in your Riders,” he said to Jamie. He called to his companions, who gathered up their human captives and forced them into a small space close to one of the wagons. She thought the raiders might take them on a forced march to whatever hideout the Freebloods kept as their base, but instead they left one guard to watch over the humans and retreated to the shade of one of the big oaks to the side of the track.

Waiting for night, Jamie thought. But they still could have taken blood from any of their captives, and did not. Jamie listened to the harsh breathing of the young medic next to her and tried to catch her godfather’s eye. But there were too many others between them, and there was nothing he could have done.

From a place of detachment she had fostered long ago, she recognized her own terror. It was perfectly rational to be afraid, under the circumstances...even for someone who had never faced a hungry Opir before. Especially just after sunset, when one of the raiders came to untie her and lead her under the oaks.

He won’t kill you, she thought, fighting panic as she was brought to stand before the leader. It isn’t in his best interest.

But when he flashed his very sharp teeth at her, she shuddered in spite of herself.

“You said you’d offer us your blood,” he said. “Is that all you’re prepared to give for your freedom?”

Jamie tilted up her chin. “I will do whatever is necessary to avoid more violence.”

“Quite a brave little human.” The Freeblood sneered.

She took a shaky step toward him. “Do you know why we’re here?” she asked. “We’re on our way to a meeting among dozens of Enclaves and Citadels and colonies, a Conclave to reach a new agreement for peace among all humans and Opiri. If we succeed, you’ll never have to hunt for blood again. There would be plenty of places where humans will give blood willingly, and—”

“You assume we want such a peace.” The leader grinned. “Come here.”

Jamie hesitated. Her escort pushed her toward the leader. She stumbled, began to fall, saw the leader jump up before he could catch her.

For an unknown period of time she lay on the leaf-littered ground, half-dazed. Again there were shouts and cries, hooves striking hard earth. This time there were no shots.

The others got free, she thought. But the voices she heard were not familiar.

A hoof stamped down next to her head, an inch away from striking her temple. She froze. The horse’s leg moved away, and a boot came down in its place. A strong, very masculine hand descended to grip her shoulder.

“Are you all right?”

She looked up through her tangled hair. An uncovered face stared down at her, but all she could see were a shock of dark hair and vivid violet-gray eyes.

“You’re late,” she whispered.