The Fool's Gambit

"People are generally better persuaded by the reasons which they have themselves discovered than by those which have come into the mind of others."

— Blaise Pascal

———

His eyes found the relevant passage almost immediately, as if the words had been waiting for him:

"The Fool's Gambit: Any attempt to employ complex flanking maneuvers in narrow, structurally compromised tunnels. This tactic, while effective in open terrain, becomes catastrophically dangerous in underground environments where enemy forces can exploit architectural weaknesses to create pincer ambushes. The confined space that makes flanking seem attractive also makes escape impossible when the maneuver fails."

Rhys read the passage twice, then a third time. Each word seemed to burn itself into his memory. Below the main text, a smaller note caught his attention:

"Particular caution should be exercised in abandoned mining operations, where previous excavation may have compromised structural integrity. What appears to be solid stone may in fact be a carefully balanced network of supports and voids. Aggressive movement or the use of explosive magic can trigger catastrophic collapses with little to no warning."

The book trembled slightly in his hands. Rhys set it down on the table, spreading his team's assigned maps beside the open pages. The Collapsed Mine section stretched across three separate tunnel networks, all of them marked with small notation symbols that he'd previously assumed were standard cartographic markers.

Now, reading them in light of the textbook's warnings, they took on a more sinister meaning. Structural assessment points. Load-bearing calculations. Stability ratings that were far lower than what he'd initially assumed.

Team 7 wasn't just being sent into a goblin warren. They were being sent into a death trap.

Rhys's fingers found the locket beneath his shirt, the small portrait of Elara warm against his chest. His sister needed him to succeed, needed the stipend and opportunities that came with staying at the academy. But she needed him alive even more.

The question was: what could he do about it?

Challenging the assessment assignments was impossible—teams had been finalized, sections distributed, and Professor De Clare had made it clear that any attempt to modify the arrangements would result in immediate expulsion. He could try to warn his teammates, but what evidence did he have? An overheard conversation and some ominous passages in a tactical manual?

Petra Goldhand, Finn Redbrook, and Jorik Ironwill were good people, but they were also first-year students who'd never faced real combat. They'd probably dismiss his concerns as pre-assessment nerves, especially coming from a commoner who'd already been marked as politically compromised by his association with House Leone.

Rhys traced the tunnel layouts again, his finger following the main passage that led to their objective marker. The route was straightforward enough—a series of connected chambers that should, in theory, provide multiple options for approach and retreat. But if those passages were as unstable as the textbook suggested...

A shadow fell across his table. Rhys looked up to find Kaelen Leone standing nearby, his grey eyes fixed on the open books and maps. The third son of House Leone looked as disheveled as ever, his dark hair slightly unkempt, academy uniform rumpled in a way that suggested either carelessness or deliberate neglect. His posture carried that familiar air of nervous uncertainty, shoulders slightly hunched as if perpetually bracing for a blow.

"Studying for the assessment?" Kaelen asked, his voice carrying that same hesitant quality that had marked all their previous interactions, the words punctuated by a small, awkward shift of weight from one foot to the other.

Rhys nodded curtly, unsure why the other student had approached. They'd barely spoken since the incident in the western woods, and their last public encounter—the humiliating spectacle with the gold—had made it painfully clear that any association between them was politically dangerous for both parties. The memory of that public debt still rankled, a persistent thorn in his pride.

"Difficult material," Kaelen continued, glancing at the tactical manual spread open before Rhys. His fingers drummed nervously against his thigh. "All those warnings about underground combat. Makes you wonder if they're trying to prepare us or scare us."

There was something in Kaelen's tone that made Rhys look at him more carefully. The nervous fidgeting was there, the same uncertain mannerisms that had marked every public appearance—the slight tremble in his hands, the way he wouldn't quite meet Rhys's eyes. But when his gaze returned to the maps and textbook, something shifted. His eyes... his eyes were focused, intelligent, studying the terrain layouts with an intensity that didn't match his bumbling persona. For just a moment, the mask seemed to slip, revealing something calculating beneath.

"Some warnings are worth taking seriously," Rhys said carefully.

"Oh, absolutely." Kaelen's gaze lingered on the Collapsed Mine section of the maps. "Especially when they come from multiple sources. Textbooks, overheard conversations, personal experience..." He trailed off, as if realizing he'd said too much.

Rhys felt something cold settle in his stomach. "Personal experience?"

Kaelen's nervous laugh sounded forced. "Not personal, exactly. But my family's estate... we have some old mining operations on the northern border. Similar geology to the assessment site. My father always warned about structural instability in abandoned workings."

The explanation was plausible, delivered with Kaelen's characteristic uncertainty. But there was something underneath it, a current of knowledge that seemed far deeper than a noble's casual familiarity with family holdings.

"Your team drew the Crystal Caverns section, didn't they?" Rhys asked, testing.

"Yes, unfortunately. Much safer than some of the other assignments." Kaelen's eyes flicked meaningfully toward the Collapsed Mine maps. "Though I suppose every section has its challenges."

The implication hung in the air between them. Rhys studied Kaelen's face, searching for any sign of deception or manipulation. What he found instead was something unexpected—genuine concern, carefully hidden beneath layers of practiced incompetence.

"The Fool's Gambit," Rhys said quietly, watching for Kaelen's reaction.

The other student's face went carefully blank. "I'm sorry?"

"It's a term from the tactical manual. Refers to using complex maneuvers in unstable terrain." Rhys kept his voice neutral, conversational. "The kind of mistake that gets people killed."

For just a moment, something shifted in Kaelen's expression. The nervous uncertainty fell away, replaced by sharp intelligence and what might have been approval. Then the mask slipped back into place, leaving Rhys wondering if he'd imagined the entire exchange.

"Well," Kaelen said, gathering himself as if preparing to leave. "I should let you get back to your studying. Good luck with the assessment, Rhys. I hope... I hope you and your team stay safe out there."