The Vermilion Spear.

Inverray's temple of the WAR GOD. It was one of only three temples around Trinity Circle on Chapel Hill. It was also one of three legs of the sacred trinity of gods worshiped by the MacBoons: Father of War, Mother of the Hearth, and the Eternal Child, the Jester Divine.

Clan MacBoon did three things well: They fought, they partied, and they took care of what was theirs to take care of.

Today, Gerrick was trying to be a warrior, and failing miserably.

He pushed his way through the great steel doors as if he owned the place, but as soon as he walked in, he shivered. Completely the opposite feel of the Hearth and Shell, Gerrick suddenly felt like a wayward Private, coming back unannounced, after a long period absent without leave--

"Well well well." Father Bullrush regarded Gerrick with a half-interested, careless deadpan as he polished the gleaming head of his boar-spear. "Look who came back."

--to find the Drill-Sergeant waiting for him in the head.

Gerrick bowed. "Forgive me, Father."

"Forgive you?" Father Bullrush rose, taking a couple of quick experimental thrusts with his spear before slowly making his way to a rack on the wall. "Your absence has hurt no one but yourself, little man." He hung his spear with precise, efficient care.

"I'm aboot tae undertake a battle."

"Go on." Father Bullrush took down a curved Tenzanese longsword and unsheathed it with reverent efficiency, studying its blade.

Gerrick's stomach fluttered. "I'm aboot tae lead a platoon a' me friends on a...a scootin' mission, tae see what's comin'."

"Are you." Father Bullrush began to polish the blade, though it did not appear to need much.

Gerrick offered open hands. "I was wonderin' if ye could bless me as their leader, so I can bring 'em home safe."

"You know the rules of war, boy. You go in willing to get the job done whatever it takes, and bringing your men home safe is secondary."

"Me Da doesnae believe that."

"Doesn't he." Father Bullrush immediately went into an en-garde and took three precise cuts with the implement. "You can ask some of the men who fought with him at Holyhead about that. Caring that your men make it home, caring when they die, is not the same as putting the mission second. If you don't understand that, you have no business leading children on reconaisance."

Gerrick shook his head. "Please. I have tae try."

"Well, I'll tell you something, little man." In a flash of steel, Father Bullrush sheathed the longsword as if he had been born wielding one. "I knew you were coming tonight."

Gerrick squinted. "Ye did?"

"Aye." He went back to the rack and hung the weapon up. "Imagine my surprise when the vision showed me not Laird Hamish, not his heir, not his general or his commodore, but his youngest, drenched in fear and humiliation, reeking of the resentment of betrayal...and calling himself a leader."

Gerrick narrowed his eyes. "And what would ye hae done in my stead?"

Father Bullrush stood squarely before Gerrick, sizing him up. "Why haven't you gone to your father with this?"

Gerrick felt his gall rise. "A moment ago I was chastized fer relyin' on him tae much."

"Good dodge, not that it doesn't have its own flaws, but that's not what I asked."

Gerrick sighed, looking away. "Because he wouldnae let me go!"

"Why."

"Because he thinks I'm still a child!"

Father Bullrush shrugged. "You are a child." He began to pace.

Gerrick clenched his fists. His left one hurt with the motion, and he could feel his skin straining against his magically-closed scars. "There will be no children when the Marsaukans arrive!"

Father Bullrush stopped pacing, and turned to gerrick. He smiled, nodding in genuine appreciation. "Good." He clapped his hands together once and pointed to Gerrick. "That was what I wanted to hear from you." He paced toward Gerrick. "Now tell me how it felt to say that."

Gerrick blinked. "It...felt...like beggin'."

"You had to be laid bare and get down on your knees in your heart to say that."

Gerrick nodded. "Aye."

Father Bullrush thrust the palm of his hand out, knocking Gerrick back a step by his shoulder. "None of this piss-ant cock-sure teenage boy bullshit. None of the bravado that impresses your friends so much." He gestured to Gerrick's left hand. "No careless bloodletting to get attention." He patted Gerrick on both arms simultaneously, as if fluffing a pillow. "Just a man and the hard truth." He took a step back, appraising Gerrick with a satisfied nod. "There may be hope for you yet."

Gerrick relaxed a little.

"But you get no blessing here."

Gerrick's heart fell. "Please. Fer ma battle--"

"This battle is within yourself, little man, far more than it is with the Marsaukans. You are about to face the greatest enemy you have ever known, and it will be yourself." Father Bullrush sat down again. "I wish I could tell you what I know. But this I can tell you: you will not defeat your foe."

Gerrick felt his stomach churn.

"No one ever does." Father Bullrush shrugged. "The struggle within is eternal. But, you are taking the step that has won more wars than any strategy."

Gerrick ventured cautiously. "What's that?"

"The bangers to show up to the fight."

Gerrick chuckled. "Well, if a MacBoon--"

"Fuck MacBoon, and don't ruin the moment. You were doing so well." Father Bullrush glared at him. "Save the glib retorts for your friends. And let me tell you something else: courage is not a birthright. You're not brave because you happened to be born into the MacBoon family. Anyone could have been lucky at birth. Courage is earned, and as pitiful as it is to watch sometimes, you are earning it."

Gerrick nodded seriously. "Thank ye sir. But...is there really nae chance of me gettin' even a small blessin'?"

"None at all." Father Bullrush pulled out a dagger, examining the edge. "What you're about to do is important. Don't fuck it up. Consider it your test of leadership. Pass it, and then you will have the blessing of the Father of War."

Gerrick bowed his head in defeat. "Thank ye, Father." He turned to go.

There was yet one last hope. It was time to see the Jester Divine's servants.