Stella heaves in her breath as she dashes through the undergrowth, legs pumping as fast as she can move them. Her arms are raw and bleeding from all the branches she had bulled through, though these were the least of her concerns.

  Everything had gone so wrong. She had followed her master to a remote island on a desperate mission to find an advantage against the humans. Humans are no match for elves in open battle, but their half-god bastard overwhelmingly tilts the war in their favor. While no god on this planet will aid a mortal directly, the scholars of the empire found hidden historical accounts of rituals able to reach some of the darker-aligned old gods through a blood summoning. After months of preparation, everything had gone exactly as planned, at least until they started the ceremony. The goblins dug the summoning circle into the dirt, the elven mage cut the human slave’s throat, and her master said the words of power. Halfway through, the clouds overhead had turned dark, and lightning struck down with earth-shaking power.

  The three goblin servants and she were the only observers, but she was still knocked off her feet. At first, she thought the ritual succeeded, but what she saw next proved her wrong: everyone in the circle was dead. Her master, one of the greatest magicians of the land, was dead with nothing to show for it. At first, she didn’t believe her eyes, that maybe they summoned an entity playing an elaborate prank with powerful illusions. When the magi remained dead, she wondered if maybe the runes were wrong. She dispelled that notion without a second thought; the magi in the ceremony were far too skilled to make a mistake of that magnitude. She knew in her gut that something was deeply wrong. The amount of magic that had fueled the sacrificial summoning rituals had to have gone somewhere. If the ritual had truly backfired, converting the lives of many archmagi into pure energy would have erased the entire island.

  The ritual site where her master died wasn’t the only one. There were three sites on the island. When she saw her master dead, she sprinted through the woods to check the other ritual sites. In every case, the ritual had failed spectacularly, with everyone passing away. When she arrived at the last site, she knew something was different when she examined the bodies. No creature on the island would have taken the ornamental weapons or stripped one of the bodies naked, leaving the meat untouched.

  She had commanded her goblins to find who was responsible and not to return until they discovered who was on this backcountry island, working against her former master’s plans. Her first assumption was that the humans had planted a spy to shadow them. Why take the weapons unless you were a spy trying to blend in on the island for your escape?

  Once she awoke tied up, there was no mistaking the truth; he was the one summoned. He didn’t seem to be anything special, but there was always something off about him to her trained magical senses. What she didn’t understand was why he would need weapons, backpacks, or anything else. All three summonings together should’ve brought forth an ethereal capable of cracking the island with its bare hands. Maybe he was weakened by the transition?

  Regardless, she needed to get back to the base to tell someone. Her master had chosen an island out of the way, in case something dangerous was summoned. The island is a remote military base with a skeleton crew and little in the way of resources. They first arrived at the dock by the garrison before trekking into the forest to conduct their mission. Part of her wondered if the creature was using her as bait or following her back to her people.

  Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

  It could be acting weak to see where she would lead it. She pushed that thought out of her mind; he was far too weak, or he would have just reached into her mind to extract the info. While in the tent, he seemed frustrated, and he didn’t show any special powers. She needed to capture him so that more experienced elves could study him more. If he is a weakened dark god, then the elven imperium could control him, and if he wasn’t, then maybe dissecting him would give some clues to this debacle.

  As she burst through another wall of abrasive limbs, she sees the tall wooden wall of the fort in front of her. The sight of the palisade walls fills her heart with hope, and she begins banging on the doors zealously. In short order, the guards open the door, and she is escorted to the command hall, though it is little more than a crude wooden building.

  The elf captain is a relatively young male with a slight, unkempt look and a thick five o’clock shadow.

  “My guards told me you flew out of the forest and began banging on the door like a rabid human.”

  She frowns at the lack of respect, but she reminds herself that he is the tool she has available. “A human spy has infiltrated the island. I command you to go out and capture him immediately.”

  His forehead creases. “You brought multiple master mages. Why don’t you capture him yourself?”

  She swallows, stifling a shiver that runs down her spine, “He was able to kill all but me.”

  He eyes her, not moving from his relaxed position in his chair. His eyes bore into her, and he’s clearly unconvinced by her words. “If he is truly that great a threat, then we need to warn the mainland because nothing in this fort will stand against him.”

  She grits her teeth. Her master never had these troubles; when he made commands, others followed his will. Instead of yelling at the obstinate elf, she decides to lie. Someone who can kill a master magi is someone to fear, but magic is always risky. In her training, she was warned through a story of a curious goblin that knocked over components at a critical moment and the resulting catastrophe. She decides to mix some of that story into her lie. “He is not that strong but was able to sabotage our ritual at a critical moment. I need him alive to get answers.”

  The man leans back and steeples his fingers. “A lone human tracked you to this island, trailed a group of master magi, and was able to strike a ritual at just the right time to kill everyone -but you?”

  Stella hears the implication in those words. She is the only survivor, and it is much more likely that either the human is a master assassin, which means the meager force at the base would be helpless against him, or she sabotaged the ritual and is trying to use the elf at the base to cover it up.

  “Your order when we arrived was to assist our mission in whatever need we have. As the rest of the party is dead you are now to assist me in whatever way I need.” He gives her a flat stare, unmoved by her command.

  “I will send out goblin scouts. They know the island as good as any of the elven rangers on base. We can’t leave a knife at our back, if the human is as weak as you think. In the meantime, I see you have gone through quite the ordeal.” Then he gives her a condescending smile, “I will have my men prepare a room for you. I will have food, and a healer sent over to assist you in your needs.”

  Fire rose inside her stomach. The captain is playing politics with her?

  She wants to scream at him that her goblin escorts are already searching, and he needs to send out everything he has. She would do as he said, despite having legal authority; she is under no illusion that he is the one with the power, and overplaying her hand is a sure way to lose her little remaining leverage. He holds the upper hand for now, but she knows the tables will turn sooner or later.

  “Good, and I want a report as soon as the human is found. It is very important he is taken alive.” She says, playing into his ruse, as she rises from her chair.

  The captain stands and gives motions to his guards. “You will be the first to know, once I have word.”