by John Conroe
Summer Reign
A novel of the Demon Accords
By John Conroe
This book is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
Copyright © 2018 John Conroe
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the author.
The Demon Accords:
God Touched
Demon Driven
Brutal Asset
Black Frost
Duel Nature
Fallen Stars
Executable
Forced Ascent
College Arcane
God Hammer
Rogues
Snake Eyes
Winterfall
Summer Reign
Cover art by Gareth Otton.
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
For my oh so patient wife - Robin.
Chapter 1
The jungle was lush and verdant, dense with life and beauty. A palate of greens ranging through every conceivable shade, the greatest diversity of plant and animal life anywhere on the planet.
That selfsame richness served to cover an intense and violent competition for resources that never ceased. Plant versus plant, plant versus insect versus bird, reptile, mammal, and amphibian. Fungus versus everything. Life cycles as short as a day and as long as centuries.
And deep in the thickest, densest part of the biggest stretch of unbroken rain forest, the oldest, largest tree on the planet dominated all. Stretching up over four hundred feet tall, the ancient tree loomed up out of the canopy like a dark green island in a sea of lighter greens. At least that’s how it appeared to the flyer as she approached from the north. Clinging tightly to the leathery back of her ride, her eyes were locked on the sight of the giant pendara tree that was, in every way possible, her home. In fact, her people had named it the Home Tree for that very reason.
High-pitched cries of warning screamed out from the top branches of the massive growth and her flyer screamed back in greeting. Closer now, she could see the shapes of roosting dactilyns shuffling about amongst the thick leaves of the forest giant. Her dactilyn pumped its long, leathery wings faster, rushing the last few units of distance, excited to gain the safety of its flock and to rest its tired body.
She let go of the reins, giving the beast its head, knowing that the weaving, bobbing flight through the outermost branches was much too complex for even a seasoned pilot as herself to attempt. The dactilyn’s specialized brain would easily make the thousands of intricate calculations and split-second course corrections that would swoop, jerk, dart, and shift them through the hard, thorn-covered branches that crowned the giant tree.
Clutching the riding harness, she gave herself over to the last crazy life-and-death moments of her ride, grinning like a child at the predictable rush of adrenaline that flooded her body.
The dactilyn finished a final set of particularly stomach-twisting maneuvers, ending by grabbing its chosen branch with both feet, sharp talons barely piercing the dense bark. The pilot ended her flight hanging from the back of her dactilyn as it stood upright after landing. Deftly unhooking herself from the harness, she lightly dropped down to the branch before reaching up to grab her pack. A pair of tenders approached, giving her a respectful bow before stepping up to settle the great beast and remove its flight harness, careful to avoid the toothy jaws. She nodded back at them, accepting their deference as her rightful due. Giving the beast a pat, she stepped lightly down the branch, the tenders quickly moving out of her way.
The highest branches of the pendara were exposed to much more wind than was ever present below the top of the jungle canopy, and the gales of fresh air shook her living pathway as she moved along its length. Despite the swaying of the branch and the sharp buffets of air, she moved easily, never in danger of falling. The branch grew thicker as she got closer to the central trunk and a series of thick vines appeared, stretching down from the top of the tree, disappearing into the green and brown sea below. She grabbed a vine, stepped off her branch, and slid skillfully down past many more layers of tree, the radiating limbs getting bigger and thicker as she dropped past them. Each level was populated by more and more of her people, and every one of them stopped to bow as she came sliding down the living ladder.
Halfway to her goal, she began to sense she was being watched by more than just the visible inhabitants of the Home Tree. It was instinct really, just a feeling, but one honed by years of experience. That subtle lift of hair on the back of the neck, a reflex that she knew tied her to those apes on Earth. There was value in such baser biology, an inherent utility that not all of her people would admit to or give credence to. But just as her faithful dactilyn had navigated the deadly thorns of the Home Tree’s branches, her finely tuned instincts warned her of invisible dangers.
The feeling grew the closer she got to the main level, which occupied a particularly wide branching of the Home Tree’s trunk roughly two-thirds of the way up. It helped that she knew damned well what was lurking in the green bowers of the tree. She had, after all, trained those very watchers.
Arriving at her destination, she ignored the approach of her mother’s servants, looking out over their bowing backs to the bark of the main trunk, to the thickets of broad leaves beyond. “Better, Sillian,” she said to a section of green and brown foliage. After a couple of seconds, the vegetation moved, stepping out to become first a biped, then resolving into a dangerous-looking male of her people.
“How did you know, Princess?” he asked.
“You’re blocking part of the air flowing out of my mother’s chambers. It’s a subtle detail but exactly the type of thing an assassin would be trained to notice. You must blade your body more sideways and not just depend on the living camouflage of your armor,” she said, poking a finger at the now shiny blue surface of his chitinous body suit.
“Yes, Princess.” He bowed before stepping back to seemingly disappear into the jungle tree’s growth.
Eirwen, Princess of Summer, gave herself a mental nod. There were other watchers all around, better hidden, and her soft rebuke of their fellow would reinforce her standing among all the Hunters of Summer. Perception was always key in the deadly Summer Court, and especially so among the defenders of the queen.
She moved closer to the trunk, seeming to almost be in danger of running into it, but instead stepped into a staggered offset opening that was, like the guards, hidden in plain sight by the very bark and wood it was made from. Stepping into the dip in the trunk, she turned rig
ht, into the entrance to her mother’s Court. The way was dark, but her feet unerringly found the path that they had known all her substantial life. There were more dangers here, defenses that would instantly strike down any intruder. Only her scent saved her, the pheromones of her body identifying her to the biological weapons systems her mother had created.
Moving around the arcing path that penetrated deeper into the massive pendara, a soft glow appearing ahead. It grew as she moved in a counterclockwise spiral into the tree, becoming bright enough to make out the walls of the passage and the smooth wood of the floor. Then the source of the light came into view, a node, grown on the surface, high on the interior bark, that emitted a soft greenish illumination. Beyond it, a second node shone even brighter, lighting her surroundings enough that she could now see that the path was growing wider. A third node came into sight as she continued, and now the spiral opened into a space that was almost shocking in its size. Heartwood Hall, the very center of the Home Tree and the most important of Mother’s throne rooms.
The room was almost bright after the dimness of the passage and Eirwen knew that those light nodes nearest the entrance would flare even brighter if her personal scent failed to identify her. Any intruder would face blinding light just as they encountered Mother’s guards and the members of her inner court.
The green-clad Hunters who faced her at the opening were among the best fighters that Summer had, each armed with a deadly crystal-edged sword whose blade grew its own deadly neurotoxin.
Beyond the guards, the first of Summer’s court were visible, studying her with cold eyes, alert for any sign of weakness as they stood on the richly grained heartwood. Opportunistic sycophants. Beautiful parasites leeching their sustenance from the Court. Males and females both wore cool flowing layers of gossamer silk, dyed every color of the rainbow and festooned with glittering living gems, insects bred for their ability to glow and shine brighter than the most perfect diamond, emerald, or sapphire. Most of the silks were translucent and the wearers’ bodies were easily visible through the wispy, clingy material. Physical beauty was the norm and showing it off the fashion. By contrast, Eirwen’s dragonskin flying leathers hugged her curves but showed no skin. It made her look more like a guard than a princess and from the sibilant whispers, much was being made of her lack of formal garb.
Mixed among the poisonous leeches of the court, Eirwen spotted the handful of advisors and officers of Summer who provided real value and kept the Summer Realm functioning smoothly. The chamber’s walls arched inward as they rose, but the eventual ceiling was cloaked in darkness high overhead. Eirwen knew that other dangers waited up there, more weapons the queen could command should she feel threatened, endangered, or more often, simply dissatisfied.
At the rear of the hall, her mother, Zinnia, Queen of Summer, sat upon a throne that was grown right into the wall, her personal blue-armored guard standing to her left. The throne was a living chair of heartwood, perfectly molded to her mother’s slim form. She wore the lightest gown of ethereal green silk that covered, but did nothing to hide, her perfect body. A tiara of golden crystal lay lightly on her light blonde hair, seemingly lit from within by the sun itself.
Eirwen bowed to her mother, ignoring the others and locking eyes with the only person in the whole tree whose opinion really mattered.
“Report,” Zinnia commanded.
“We lost both clutches of fliers. Sudden powerful winds and storms that blew up at the last second,” Eirwen said.
“None got through?” Zinnia asked, frowning.
“None. One got through the winds but was struck by lightning. The ground troops fared no better. They took losses at the river ford, this time by particularly large freshwater sarcorials, then more in unprovoked attacks by the various types of plains predators. The survivors were killed by a funnel storm that formed and touched down suddenly.”
“How far did they get? Halfway across?” Zinnia asked, her frown turning to a scowl.
“Not quite. More like a third of the way,” Eirwen reported.
The Queen of Summer stared at her daughter, clearly deep in thought. She turned to her left. “What happens if he dies?” she asked.
A tall, painfully thin elf wearing brown robes came closer. “We are not certain, my queen. Either the land subsides and returns to normal or… it gets worse and tears itself apart.”
“Eight thousand years of record keeping and that’s the best your order can come up with?” she asked.
“This is unprecedented,” he said deferentially.
“Useless is what it is,” she said, waving him away. She went back to staring at her daughter. “Access?” she finally asked.
“Limited. He closed the portals in the Middle Realm and most of our others are compromised by the humans. We have a few, but they are all that’s left,” Eirwen said. “His talent with portals was not anticipated.”
“I imagine your cousin is seething,” Queen Zinnia said.
“Seething does not begin to describe her anger. She requested her mother’s troll to transport her, but Morrigan denied her,” Eirwen said.
The queen sat motionless, eyes locked on her daughter. Eirwen had learned long ago to stay silent and just stare back. This was what it looked like when her mother did what she did best… plot.
“Awaken those in Slumber,” Zinnia said suddenly.
“As you command,” her daughter said. “Target the boy?”
“Half. The other half targets the betrayers,” the queen said.
Eirwen frowned but said nothing. Her mother noticed. “You think half is not enough? You think they might very well fail?”
Eirwen nodded, once, sharply.
“You are most likely right. I almost hope you are,” Zinnia said, smiling slightly.
Understanding bloomed on the princess’s face. “It works either way? He dies or doesn’t but then comes back?” she asked.
“Curious creatures, these humans. It is often the death of them,” Zinnia, Queen of the Summer Realm, said with a deadly smile.
Chapter 2
“And we’re back. Top stories this hour… Anti Artificial Intelligence Protesters attempt to block the entrance to the White House grounds, demanding action to control the Omega AI. Counter-protestors from the Omega Movement are present and tensions are high. The Human Purity group steps up its social media attacks on parents of children cured at the Demidova Clinic. The United Nations Emergency Meeting melts down into violence between First and Third World countries over the decision to fight the Vorsook. In Virginia, police hunt an accountant who murdered his wife and children in the middle of the night. Witnesses say the man, who has no criminal record or history of violence, soaked his hat in his family’s blood and wore it as he calmly climbed into his car and drove away. More now with our local VXOA correspondent, Callum Straus. Callum?”
The digital numbers on Mack’s bedside clock turned over one more time and I decided I had to go. Sorry Callum, no time to hear your gruesome story.
I turned off my computer and pulled off the ear buds, replacing the right one with my Bluetooth earpiece. I generally tried to not wake my roomie. Not that Mack would have really noticed a little sound. Kid could sleep through a war.
A calm male voice spoke softly in my right ear. “Father, your meeting is in twenty-one minutes. Traffic is normal. There are still open parking slots in multiple locations.”
I mouthed a thank you at the phone’s camera and grabbed my messenger bag, water bottle, car keys, and the phone. Slipping out into the hall, I slowed the door’s closing to mask the sound of the lock clicking shut. The wards around the doorframe snapped into place. Frankly, my money was on the wards. Any witch or telekinetic in Arcane could breach the door lock with a thought. The wards, however, were some of my best work and while I wasn’t foolish enough to believe them inviolate I knew they would be a serious test for almost any witch on the planet. Humble… that’s me. But let’s be honest. I am pretty good at this shit.
; The wolves were in the dining room, and the whole pack turned and looked at me like a flock of synchronized birds… highly dangerous birds.
The biggest one raised one fuzzy black eyebrow at me. “Whore lock,” he said.
“Pimple wolf,” I said back. He grimaced, one giant hand coming up to touch the red, angry blemish on his forehead. Weres don’t usually get infections of any type—unless they’ve been messing with werewolf aphrodisiacs which, by the way, differ from werewolf poisons only by amount. Monkshood, or wolfsbane, was a serious poison that could kill a were but in tiny doses caused an exaggerated Viagra effect. It also lowered the LV immune response long enough for sebaceous glands to get mildly infected. Dellwood growled, frowned at me, and then, blessedly, shut up.
Having met the standards of Arcane etiquette, I headed to the breakfast sandwiches piled on one of the buffet tables.
The pack went back to eating and I grabbed an egg, sausage, and cheese-on-biscuit beauty, sliding it into a little wax paper to-go bag.
Gina Velasquez was just coming into the dining room as I got to the doorway.
“Declan, have you thought about that class for the younger witches?” she asked.
“I’m gonna start them on the whole borrowed energy technique.”
