The town of Le Urre was a peaceful place. Situated in a low, scenic valley, the town was a picturesque locale, surrounded by rolling hills covered in vibrant green grass, with a pure stream running through it from the mountains to the northeast. It was not a large town, no more than a few hundred honest, hardworking peasants tilling the land around them and getting by with what little they needed. They lived their lives and let others live theirs, and did not bother themselves much over the politics of the rest of Foraine.

Until, that is, Vicomtesse Perrine Labelle rode into town at the head of a small army. Systematically, she positioned her women around the town’s perimeter, and set her engineers to work constructing a large gallows in the town square. Those who were in the village watched everything with surprisingly little reaction. Time crawled by as the engineers worked and everyone else waited for whatever was going to happen.

The Vicomtesse, Madame du Collet as she was known throughout the Barony of Fleche, addressed the peasantry. She told them that she had received information that Vocal Henri, Foraine’s most notorious and hunted traitor, had gone into hiding in their little town. All the people of Le Urre had to do to avoid the deadly fate of Mont-sur-Mer was to prove their loyalty to the nobles by handing Henri over to her immediately. The crowd gave no reaction whatsoever, not even bothering to act shocked at the development.

Perrine Labelle gave the town one hour to decide where their loyalties lay, and the peasants in the town left the square and vanished into the houses of the village. An eerie quiet settled over the valley, and time ticked away as Perrine Labelle sat like a queen on the platform, waiting for her own private, macabre show to begin. In the entire hour, not a single peasant left to walk the streets or to return to the square.

Time ran out for them, and Perrine had the town bell rung to call the villagers back. No one answered. The Vicomtesse, furious, had the bell rung again, louder and more insistent, but still no one came. Enraged, she ordered her soldiers to go house to house and drag the peasants to the square, kicking and screaming if they had to. The soldiers hastened to obey, and it seemed like the fate of Le Urre was all but sealed.

The cries of alarm went up from Perrine’s soldiers as they burst into the first of the peasant’s homes. Then, the flames seemed to be everywhere at once. As the soldiers continued to open the doors of the peasant’s homes, the air flooded in and fed the fires they had started, and the town ignited before anyone knew what was happening. Confused, scared, and surrounded by fire and chaos, the soldiers scrambled over and around each other trying to free themselves and escape Le Urre in every direction.

Several died in the flames, but most made it out, scorched and exhausted. It was then, however, that a loud cry went up from the hills to the northwest. The peasants, who had escaped through tunnels they had spent weeks digging, surged over the hill. They were poorly armed and armored, using what little they had to cover themselves and whatever tools had been lying around as weapons. They were waving tall white flags and screaming, as loudly as they could, the name “Pale Lilies.”

The soldiers who were closest had no chance. Though better armed, better armored, and far better trained, their forced march to Le Urre, coupled with their frantic flight from the flames, left them in no condition to defend themselves, and the peasants were merciless. They slaughtered the soldiers who were all but baking in their armor, and then stole their weapons, to turn them against the rest of the soldiers.

The peasants’ second attack, as they pushed beyond the closest soldiers, was far more difficult. Realizing what had happened and the danger they were in, the soldiers attempted to rally. But still, their exhaustion and broken lines fell to the peasants who swept over them like a swarm of locusts. The peasants pushed around the outskirts of their burning city clockwise, and nearly every soldier Perrine Labelle had brought with her who had fled west or north was lying dead at the hands of their intended victims.

By this time, however, the rest of the soldiers had realized fully what was happening, and their captains, along with Madame du Collet herself, were organizing and rallying them. But the Pale Lilies were not foolish enough to engage with an experienced and organized fighting force, and wisely fled to the north. The soldiers, exhausted and weighted down with their heavy armor, were unable to give pursuit. Nearly half of Perrine Labelle’s force was dead or wounded as the remnants of Le Urre burned to the ground.

From the top of a hill to the southwest of the destroyed town, Thomas Cerveau watched everything silently through a powerful spyglass. He was grinning to himself. Everything was going according to plan. His plan. Through the spyglass, he found Perrine herself. She moved about calmly, but an extra magnification showed him that her face was contorted in livid rage. Thomas’s smile widened even further.

“So,” he said to himself. “The great Madame du Collet can be bested, after all.”

Thomas quickly put his spyglass away and turned from the sight. Without any further hesitation, he withdrew to the large contraption parked behind him, a contraption he himself had helped perfect at the University of Fleche. Laying one hand gently on the wing, he recalled the hours he had spent solving the riddle of flight. But he had little time to dwell on his past glories when his future ones demanded his attention. Quietly, he climbed up into the seat and fired up the engine, and in minutes he was in the air, he and his Thorneauthopter speeding their way to the coast.

Maëlys Dupont stormed down the University halls, several sheets of papers clutched in her right hand. She was fuming. Furious, even, and nothing was going to keep her from the object of her wrath. There were only a few students walking the halls at this hour, but all of them melted away before her as she walked, afraid that somehow they had been the reason for her obvious ire. Maëlys ignored them, and eventually came to a simple wooden door at the end of a long hallway. Without so much as knocking, she slammed the door open and strode inside.

There, in his office, Thomas Cerveau was sitting in front of a chess board, looking as though he were waiting for something. “What the hell are you playing at, Thomas?”

The handsome young man looked up at her and attempted a disarming smile, which only served to make Maëlys all the more furious. “A game at chess, of course.” He indicated toward the board. “Would you like to play, Chairwoman Dupont?”

“You know what I mean,” she said, closing the door hard behind her. Then she approached the younger man and threw the papers down on the board. “What do you think you are doing?”

Thomas glanced at the papers, smiled, and then set them aside. “Ah, I see you’ve read my latest paper. What did you think?”

“I think you’ve gone mad, Thomas,” she yelled. “You wrote a paper called ‘The Third Color: A Study and Forecast of the Scholars’ Domination of Foraine?’ What is the matter with you?”

“Complete with a case study,” Thomas said proudly. “‘The Le Urre Gambit,’ as I have termed it.”

“What part did you play in Le Urre?”

Thomas looked up at her, looking hurt. “Didn’t you read the paper?”

“Answer my question, Cerveau.”

Thomas shook his head. “You only skimmed it, I see.” He sighed deeply. “Very well, Chairwoman. I will summarize. Please, have a seat. Let’s play a game while I walk you through everything that has happened.”

Reluctantly, Maëlys Dupont sat down opposite Thomas. Without a word, he moved his white king’s pawn up two squares. Maëlys moved her black one up in a mirrored move. “This is a waste of time, Thomas. Neither of us has ever managed to defeat the other in chess.”

“True,” Thomas said. “You are an excellent player, as I have always strived to be, and although we have differing strengths and weaknesses, we invariably end in a stalemate.”

“Enough playing for time,” Maëlys said. “Answer my question. What role did you play in the recent events in Le Urre?”

Thomas moved another of his pieces, beginning to prepare his defense. “The most crucial role, of course. I set the entire thing up.”

“What?” Maëlys said, more shocked that he would admit it than that he had done it. She moved a piece to answer his. “Why would you do that?”

Thomas chortled. “It was an experiment. And a highly successful one, I might add.” Thomas made another move.

Maëlys moved back, threatening one of Thomas’s pieces. “An experiment in what?”

“In the ease with which the opposing sides of this brewing Revolution could be manipulated,” he said casually as he moved to protect his threatened piece. “First, I sent letters to Le Urre, warning them that Perrine Labelle, the Monster of Mont-sur-Mer, was coming for them, and even gently suggesting that they call for aid from these Pale Lili radicals.” Maëlys moved again. “Then, I sent an anonymous tip to the Vicomtesse that Henri le Douce had retreated to Le Urre.”

Thomas moved to attack one of Maëlys’s pieces, but she quickly moved it away and out of danger. “To what end?” She asked him as he moved again. “What do you hope to gain from this?”

“Everything,” Thomas replied, moving a piece directly into Maëlys’s attack. “And I have gained much knowledge from the Le Urre Gambit. Both Perrine Labelle and the Peasants can be manipulated.” Maëlys smiled, taking Thomas’s piece. “And if they can be manipulated,” he continued, immediately taking back the piece she had just used to take his, “then they can be defeated.”

Maëlys frowned as she made her move. “I thought the entire Council agreed that it would be best for the Scholars of Fleche to stay out of this conflict.”

Thomas nodded absently and moved to threaten. “That was before Mont-sur-Mer and Perrine Labelle.” Maëlys moved to counter. “It was before Le Rateau and the Pale Lilies.” Thomas took her piece, and she took his right back. “It was before the Scholars had the opportunity to take everything.”

“You’re mad, Thomas,” Maëlys said flatly, taking another piece.

“Am I?” Thomas said, taking it back again. “The Council doesn’t think so, not after seeing my research and hearing my plans.”

“I am the Chairwoman of the Council, Monsieur Cerveau,” Maëlys warned as she made her move. “So clearly, the Council’s opinion on the matter is not unanimous.”

“I think it will be,” Thomas said, sliding another piece forward, “once you see the soundness of my arguments.”

“Thomas, it is madness to try to contend against the Aristocracy. Theirs is the lioness’s share of the money and the power in Foraine, and the forces they can bring to bear against their enemies are not to be ignored.”

“Then why, Chairwoman, have we not sided with them? The Tradeswomen have, or are likely to soon enough. If they are so strong, why risk their ire by remaining neutral?”

Maëlys moved another piece to challenge his. “Because the peasants are not to be forgotten, either. And now that they almost undoubtedly have the support of the Mages, with the Vicomtesse’s decree at Mont-sur-Mer, they would also be a devastating enemy to us.”

“Indeed,” Thomas agreed as he instigated another trade. “So the Aristocrats are too powerful to oppose, and the peasants are too dangerous to fight. And so, we remain neutral, guaranteeing that regardless of which side wins, they will be displeased with us for not aiding them.”

Maëlys hesitated at this. “Better to not be an ally, than to be an enemy.”

“Perhaps,” Thomas said, still playing. “But better still to be the victor over all.”

Maëlys moved a piece into an aggressive position. “But war is, by its very nature, a gamble. If it were a certainty, it would not be a war, but a slaughter, and would be over before it could be termed so.”

Thomas took her piece, falling into Maëlys’s trap. “And both sides lose much in a war.”

The Chairwoman smiled, moving into check. “Precisely. And the Scholars, of all the classes, are perhaps the least prepared for war. We have only our students for soldiers, and we lack the gold to buy mercenaries that the tradeswomen or craftswomen have.”

Her smile faded as Thomas took her piece with one of his that she had failed to notice. “True, but we are hardly helpless. We have the thopters that even the aristocrats don’t know about yet. We have siege weaponry and other tricks they couldn’t dream of. And of course, we have the most brilliant minds on Thorneau to plot our strategies.”

“None of which is a satisfactory reason to declare war. Possessing the ability to do something is no reason to do it. You were perfectly capable of leaping from your thopter when you returned here, yet you must concede that it would have been a foolish choice.”

“Your comparison is a fallacy, Chairwoman. It assumes that I propose we declare war merely for war’s sake. As with anything else, it is about the prize gained.”

“And what do you suppose can be gained from making war with the aristocrats and the peasants at once?”

“If this Revolution spreads beyond the borders of Fleche, and between the Vicomtesse tightening her rope around its neck, and the Pale Lilies all but setting it ablaze, it is quite likely, the prize for this war will likely be the crown itself.”

“Ambitious, don’t you think?”

Thomas shrugged. “Ambition is only a negative element if it is allowed to blind us to our sense. If our ambition causes us to rush in without a plan, or to choose our moves hastily and unwisely, then yes, it would be folly to go to war.”

Maëlys sighed. “I take it you feel your moves are adequately planned out?”

“Of course,” Thomas said, taking another of her pieces. The board was becoming quite empty. “And the Council agrees with me.”

“Then I shall simply need to speak with the Council,” Maëlys said, taking Thomas’s piece again. “War would prove a great calamity for the Scholars of Fleche, and of all of Foraine. I cannot allow it.”

“It seems we are at a stalemate,” Thomas said.

“Do not fool yourself, Thomas. Yes, you have accomplished much in your academic career. You are the first man to ever be accepted onto the Council, and one of the youngest Scholars to be so, as well. You are intelligent, productive, and well-liked.”

“And I have a phenomenal singing voice,” Thomas added, smirking.

Maëlys rolled her eyes. “Yes, you do. But none of that matters on the Council, Thomas. I am the Chairwoman, and my voice carries the Council’s decision. While I hate to pull rank on you like this, the fact that we disagree does not create a stalemate.”

Thomas laughed. “No, Chairwoman. I mean, our game. We have reached our stalemate.”

Maëlys glanced down at the board, now far more barren than at the beginning of the game. Despite herself, the Chairwoman laughed. “I suppose so. And do you see now, looking at this board, how much can be lost in war? Both your white pieces and my black, so many lost, and nothing gained.”

“I do see that, Chairwoman.” Thomas reached down under his chair and withdrew a small wooden box. He opened it, and inside there was another set of chess pieces, these in red. One by one, Thomas began setting the pieces on the board, between and among the white and black pieces. When he was finished, Maëlys noted coldly that both the white queen and the black queen were in checkmate. “And now do you see that once the two sides have lost so much, and found themselves in a stalemate, the time is ripe for a third force to sweep in and take everything?”

Maëlys opened her mouth to speak, but thought better of it. She couldn’t deny that there was some sense in what Thomas Cerveau was saying. Before she had decided how to respond, Thomas had picked up his paper once again for emphasis.

“My plan was never to declare war on one side or the other, and certainly not on both at once. My plan is to manipulate, to play both sides against the other, and to orchestrate matters as best I can to lead both sides into a weakened stalemate. And then, when the time is right and only when the time is right, the Scholars step in,” he paused, reaching for the black and white queens, then, dramatically, tipped them both over, “and take everything.”

“And what happens if things don’t go to plan?” Maëlys pressed. “What happens if you cannot create a stalemate, and one side wins?”

Thomas grinned. “That, Chairwoman, is the genius of this plan. In order to play one side against the other, I need to position myself with both sides. If there is no stalemate, we, the Scholars, will appear to the victor to have been on their side the entire time.”

Maëlys Dupont leaned back in her chair, and stroked her chin. “It is a dangerous plan,” she commented.

Thomas shrugged. “Only to me.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, Chairwoman, that I intend to do this myself. If I succeed, then we all succeed. If I fail, well, then the Council can always make the claim that it knew nothing of my plans. And it will be simple enough to create false evidence that would help prove it in the worst case scenario.”

Maëlys thought for a long time on Thomas’s words. He did seem to have thought of nearly everything, and anything he hadn’t thought of, the Council could work through together before they set his plan into motion. And there was something undeniably appealing about putting the Scholars back in command of Foraine, a position they hadn’t held in nearly two thousand years. Eventually, though, she shook her head.

“You have a solid plan, Thomas, but the risk is too great for the reward.”

“It surprises me to hear you say that, Chairwoman, as there is no one in all of Thorneau who stands to gain more from my plan than you do.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“Think about it, Chairwoman. If this Revolution consumes all of Foraine, then unless the aristocrats win, Queen Lucienne II will be dethroned. But Foraine has always, must always, have a Queen. And whichever side wins will choose that Queen.”

“I warn you, Monsieur Cerveau, do not attempt to buy me with promises.”

“I am not attempting to bribe you, nor am I attempting to deceive you. Tell me this, Chairwoman, which are the commonly accepted three greatest Universities in Foraine?”

“In order, the Grand University of Rouleau, the University of Torche, and ours here, at Port Manteau.”

Thomas nodded. “And surely the Chairwomen of those Universities’ Councils would be the most likely to be nominated, yes?”

Maëlys considered. “That is probable, yes.”

“Now, the Chairwoman of the Grand University is an old woman who has never had daughters. She would not be considered. And the Chairwoman at Torche is known as a good friend of the Queen, I have heard.”

“They dine together once a month, as I recall,” Maëlys said, the wheels in her head turning.

“And so, if Lucienne is deposed, it seems unlikely that those who deposed her would then set her friend on her throne. You, on the other hand, are well-respected in academic circles across the queendom, you are still somewhat young by Scholar standards, and you have four daughters, ensuring a continuing line. Now tell me, Chairwoman, have I lied about any of this?”

“No,” Maëlys admitted.

“And can you think of anyone else the Council of Councils would be more likely to nominate than you?”

Maëlys thought for a long moment, but nobody came to mind. Thomas’s arguments were indeed sound. Finally, she shook her head. “No, I cannot.”

Thomas nodded. “Chairwoman, all Scholars in Foraine stand to gain much from this plan, and yet stand to lose nothing in the attempt. And of all of them, you and I stand to gain the most. What do you say, Chairwoman? Will you let me attempt my plan?”

Again, Maëlys thought. “Are you certain you can get in with the aristocrats?”

“Le Urre proves that Perrine Labelle can be manipulated, as long as she is offered what she wants most. Vocal Henri’s neck.”

“And you think you can offer her that?”

Thomas nodded. “I can offer her Vocal Henri through the same channels with which I will endear myself, and manipulate, the peasants.”

“And how is that?”

“Not ‘how,’ Chairwoman. ‘Who.’ Vocal Henri’s right-hand woman. Aurélie Cerveau.” His smile widened. “My sister.”