The Death of Chaos

Part One: Chapter Two

"Our supplies run low, your grace," one lord said, his voice gruff and deep.

Nia nodded; her eyes fixed on the map before her. She traced the river and every acreage of land; she scrutinized the trinkets representing the orc armies. They were bountiful and scattered across the land, and every few days they marched, seizing land as they moved.

The battle from three days ago took a toll on her men and women. The infirmary overflowed with wounded men and women and the air still smelt of the ash and smoke.

"The men were badly injured after this battle, your grace. Should we press on, I am afraid we will not fare well," said Lord Deandre of House Bowman, her father's minister of health. A strapping old man with a long white beard and even longer white hair.

"I agree, my lord. However, I am afraid my lord father might need some convincing," Nia replied. There was a murmur amongst her council. Fear now permeated the room, fear of the backlash they were to receive from her lord father, the King.

As stubborn as a mule with a tongue like a viper. A true warrior king born to a long line of warrior kings. To ask him to retreat was akin to defeat in his eyes. But it must be done. "But worry not my lords, I shall bear my lord's father's wrath." She said.

It was noon when she dismissed her ministers and sought her father out. As she walked through their camp, she saw men sharpening their swords, their hands moving but their minds elsewhere. The men were no longer as vigorous as they were when the war had first started. Their faces sagged and their countenances looked worn.

She could hear raised voices coming from her father's tent as she approached. He was always angry, always wrought these days.

Parting the flap, she entered the tent. Inclining her body in a bow, she said, "Your Grace, I request an audience. I have matters of urgency to discuss."

"Speak" her father's voice was gruff and rasp. She raised her head to look at his large, commanding person. Her father was tall and gracefully built, muscular after many years of fighting. He wore a bronze armor which contrasted against his dark chocolate skin. His angular face houses sharp blue eyes, a straight nose and thin lips rendered thinner from the line in which he pulled them. His grey locks were pulled back into a single braid hanging down his back.

"I am advised that our supplies run low and our men are gravely injured." She said, walking closer to his council table.

"And?" he grumbled, not bothering to even look at her.

"My commanders are advising that we withdraw to recuperate," she said carefully and watched as his head snapped up. His blue eyes narrowed into a spine curling glare. She almost shivered in fear.

"Oh?" he asked, his thick eyebrows shooting up in question. It was a warm summer day, but the way his icy eyes narrowed into a glare sent a shiver down her spine. On a normal day, she would bend her neck in submission and retreated to her tent, but not today. Her men were more important, and her father had to listen to reason.

"Leave us," she said, her tone leaving no room for debate or argument. The men, already feeling the tension between father and daughter, were happy to oblige.

When the room was empty, she rounded on him, her own glare now in place. "The men are on their absolute last resolve, father," she hissed. In public, Nia was the perfect soldier. She never spoke back and followed orders, but in private she was the temperamental princess of stubborn royal parents.

"If we retreat, we will give those scum the perfect opportunity to advance further to the cities," He snapped, his eyes never leaving her.

"And if we push forward as is, we will suffer greater casualties and by the time men from the capital are able to come to our rescue, our forces would have been terminated," She replied "We retreat to Castle Zealandia and recruit men from my Uncle's personal guard to fight, there are no villages between here and Uitvlugt for the taking."

"You would give the bloody general something to gloat about. To retreat will only give those parasites more confidence. We need to neutralize the threat now and put an end to this bloody war, Niangela." His bellow was loud as his fist came down on the mapping table. The force of his hit sent the markers flying. "We will stay and that is final,"

"Then I shall ask the queen for her input," Nia retorted. She smiled internally as she saw him become visibly tense. Diangelo De BellMarie was afraid of one thing and one thing only: his wife, Cristabel De BellMarie, Warrior Queen of the Takatu Isles. He knew what his wife would command, and he knew that he would obey.

Her mother is the descendant of a legendary warrior tribe that hailed from the Takatu Isles. As a daughter of the Caribe tribe, she had an unnatural predisposition of all things war related. A master strategist and even better fighter, she was victorious in every expedition that she ever led.

Poor health had however rendered her frail and no longer able to ride forcing her to sit out of the war and to govern the kingdom instead.

"Your mother is not here, I am and we stay. You are dismissed".

"Father..." She began only to stop short when he further narrowed his eyes. Nia growled and stormed out of the tent.

Stubborn old man, she thought as she stormed into the nearby forest. Her father has a tendencies of bringing out her irrational side. He never listened to reason and that tended to lead to more trouble.

Nia entered the forest and walked for about 15 minutes before letting out a ear piercing scream. She was sure that no one would hear her this far from camp . The camp couldn't know their fierce Commander got easily riled up from exchanging a few words with her father.

When she felt like she had screamed out all of her frustration, she sighed and turned her head up to the heavens. She loved nature, and everything that came with it.

When she wasn't training or working, she spent time foraging for herbs, flowers, rare fruits and anything she could find. Her eyes drifted across the the tree lines, taking in the verdant forest. She loved the way the green contrasted against the baby blue sky and the milky white clouds and the dark brown of the dirt.

Briefly her eyes spotted a orange object sticking our from the bark of a tree. She furrowed her eyebrows as she drew her sword; that was an unusual colour to be present this deep in the forest.

With careful steps, Nia approached the object, her breathing steady and grip firm. As she got closer and the object became clearer, she became almost giddy. All her anger and frustration and anger melted away.

Embedded in the bark of a tree, was the most beautiful orange five petal flower that she had ever seen. It was round in shape with, lined petals and attached to a yellow stalk.

Plucking brown leather gloves from her leather greaves, she pulled them on, wrapped her hand carefully around the stalk and plucked the flower.

She was too busy admiring the beauty, imaging how she would draw it in her journal and fantasizing about all the test she should run to feel her head becomes light. She barely noticed the way her vision darkened and her body become weightless.