The hardest part about being a knight was, naturally, the part training didn't prepare you for.
He knew she knew where her allies, his enemies, were camped. He knew she would never reveal thier position voluntarily. If he managed to extract their location from her through--he couldn't bear to think the word--other ways than simply asking, then hundreds of his men might be spared their lives. The price, of course being his integrity and the slaughter of enemies that would ensue from his men's surprise attack.
She stared at him from her position tied to his tent pole, her eyes calling him a hypocrite, though her mouth was gagged. You claim to serve the god of truth, they asked, who values honor above all, yet you are considering stooping to my level?
Not, of course, that she would say that.
He stalked out of his tent and away from the encampment, leaving two guards within and two without, towards where he did his morning prayers. He flung himself to the ground, curling on his knees. It was not his decision to make, but his god's, he realized, though his men would do whatever he asked.
"Give me a sign, my Lord," he prayed, and he remained there until he felt a peace about the situation come over him. He then stood, and made his way back to the tent.
When he opened the tent flap, he found four of his personal guards standing there, clearly befuddled, around an empty pile of ropes. Loren smiled wryly.
"I prayed for a sign," he said, bemused. The gods worked in mysterious ways indeed.
"Hell of a sign, sir," answered his captain, rubbing his chin.