Rheuben lay dead, just beyond Loren's reach from where he was tied. Rheuben, his comrade, his closest and sometimes only friend.
Once the sun set, he would be beyond the reach of Loren's magicks forever. It would be like losing part of himself; the men were like brothers, and the best family Loren had left.
"Nearing sunset, isn't it?" asked one of their Tier'dal captors. The dark elf's face was twisted into an infuriating smirk. "If you want him to live, paladin," he said, spitting out the final word with the highest scorn, "you will beg me to listen to the direction in which the rest of your hunting party lies."
Loren had watched helplessly as the Tier'dal had tortured his friend until he begged for death, and then they had given it to him. Now, though, the reality of the loss of his friend was truly hitting him.
"Please," he muttered, at last, and the necromancer laughed. The magical bonds disappeared and Loren lunged towards his Rheuben, but the dark elf kicked him back to the ground.
"Beg me," he mocked, and Loren could hear the laughter of his friends in the background.
Loren pulled himself to his knees, anger scorching through his body, flushing him red. "Please," he said again, through gritted teeth, "my friends are due south." Each word in his ears felt like a physical blow. "Please, let me save him." His life is worth more than my pride, he reminded himself.
"Good boy," sneered the elf, and his group departed. "They never lie," he explained to his friends. Loren placed his hands over his friend, praying the prayer of resurrection.
When Rheuben was sensible, several hours later, and after Loren had explained what had happened, Rheuben groaned aloud.
"You should have let them kill us," he said, disappointment furrowing his brow.
"You forget, friend," said Loren. "The rest were to circle towards the north if we hadn't returned by sunset, by way of the east. We just needed to buy time."