The Commander: A Sacrificed Short Story (The Last Oracle) by Emily Wibberley

THE COMMANDER

    “Is she dead?” Esso asked, his voice shaking.
    “She better not be,” Riece groaned, trying to get to his feet. The slave had hit him harder than he thought possible. Most of the girls were too weak, too scrawny to be of any serious threat. But this girl—she had nearly gotten away.
    Tenoch still stood over her, his eyes black and greedy. He was staring at her legs, which were left exposed in her fall.
    “What were you thinking?” Riece raged at the beastly guard, pulling him away from the defenseless girl.
    “She was going to get away, and she just attacked you. She needed to remember her place.” Tenoch spit on the ground.
    Moments like these tried Riece’s patience. Mostly, the guards were good men. They were honest and hardworking and left with no choice but to serve the Emperor in his pyramid. But there were a few men, like Tenoch, who took this post not out of desperation, but because they saw it as an opportunity—a place where young girls were stripped of nearly all protections and forgotten in the days before they were sacrificed.
    “You cannot lay hands on the slaves. No matter what.” Riece filled his voice with as much authority as he could, but sometimes it was still hard for him. He was so much younger than the other men, and he’d hardly spent any time in the Emperor’s army before his promotion to commander. Usually his reputation was enough to earn the men’s respect. When it wasn’t, Riece didn’t have trouble quickly demonstrating his own strength and skill. But Tenoch was less easily impressed. He was stronger than Riece. And no matter how slow or stupid Tenoch was, challenging the massive guard would be no easy feat.
    “Whatever you say, Commander ,” Tenoch said with a sneer before turning down the hallway back toward the cells.
    Riece knew he would have to deal with Tenoch sooner or later. But with the latest offering and now this dangerous slave girl—Tenoch would have to wait.
    Still, Riece didn’t feel comfortable leaving the man unattended.
    “Esso,” Riece addressed the younger guard. “Go with Tenoch. Help him with the girls.”
    Esso nodded dutifully, but Riece could tell the boy was scared. Rightfully so.
    “Keep an eye on him,” Riece added as the boy retreated. “If he tries anything with the slaves that you would not want him doing to one of your sisters, find me immediately.”
    “Do you want me to call a priest on my way, Sir?” Esso asked, looking at the fallen girl.
    “A priest? For what purpose?” Riece tried to keep the priests as far from the cells as possible. Of course, there was always the occasional unpleasant visit from the High Priest himself.
    “To tend to the girl. She needs healing,” Esso answered.
    “No,” Riece said too quickly. “No, I’ll take care of it.” The thought of one of those priests alone with this girl made something in Riece’s chest tighten.
    Esso nodded and left.  
    It wouldn’t be proper for Riece to tend to the girl himself. He knew that. He knew he should call a priest. Instead, he found himself kneeling beside her. Glancing around to make sure they were truly alone, he reached out and gently slid his hand under her head, turning her face toward his.
    There was tension in her brow, as if she were still in pain. Riece brushed his hand against the side of her head, where Tenoch had hit her. It came away without blood. Good. Her eyes were closed. Her hair—a brown matted tangle—fell in dirty streaks across her face. He swept them aside to see her better.  
    No, she was too beautiful to be trusted with one of the priests. They would take one look at her and use her to slake their own perversity, knowing no one would care if she were hurt or killed.
    He straightened the tattered rags she wore, pulling them down over her legs. She was filthy. Dried mud nearly coated her shins. Beneath the mud, he could make out angry red lines traveling up her calf. He knew what that meant. She was injured, and