Free Sorcerer Rising (A Virgil McDane Novel) by E. Nathan Sisk

what makes man the species it is. Necessity is the mother of invention, but for every invention that was made out of necessity, there is at least one that was made for the hell of it.
    My motivations for joining the Guild were complicated to say the least, but curi osity was a big part of it. It was a big world and the Guild gave me the opportunity, hell, the obligation, to see it all. Until everything went horribly, horribly wrong, I loved it. I was good at it then, and I was good at it now.
    And part of the reason for that is I always come prepared.
    For the unknowable and arcane, I go to the Sisters of His Eternal Truth. They don’t know everything, though try telling them that, but when no one knows anything, they usually know something.
    That’s how I found myself standing in the shadow of the Cathedral. Imagine the Cathedral of Saint Paul. Imagine it with bigger gargoyles. And they move. Imagine a structure so big, so complex, that its many towers, arches, and buildings cast shadows all around the area. Now imagine that in those shadows there are things watching. You can’t really see them, but you can hear them. The y scuttle and scurry and make the hair on the back of your neck stand up.
    If you listen just right you can hear them speak to you. They whisper and promise and suggest. I asked Sol what was in the Cathedral’s shadows once. He said he didn’t know. He told me they kept the church safe and the Gargoyles were afraid of them. When I asked how they knew they were safe, he laughed. He told me that the angels would never allow them to harm anyone.
    For the life of me, I’ve never been able to figure out what he was joking about and what he wasn’t.
    As I walked into the Cathedral , I felt the power of it in all my senses. It rang in my ears, a thousand bells all ringing at once, accompanied by trumpets. Fire and smoke filled my nose and honey played across my tongue. Both warmth and chill, neither uncomfortable, played over my skin.
    I made my way down the aisle, past the many rows of benches until I was before the altar. The Cathedral was different from any other Catholic church I’d ever been in. I mean sure, it was run by fairies, but it was more than that. The real differences were more subtle. I looked up at the simple wooden cross, knelt, and crossed myself. 
    I felt quiet and subdued in the hallowed place. I closed my eyes, taking in the feel of it. My parents had been Catholic. Up until their death and my training with the Guild, I ’d gone to Mass every Sunday. I held a great deal of respect for the Sisters, which is kind of unusual for me.
    Especially since the feeling wasn’t exactly mutual.
    It was tranquil and peaceful and I was enjoying the peace it brought me. So I was thoroughly annoyed as the sound of heavy boots thudding on cold stone moved toward me.
    I opened my eyes to see Father Ignatius Lee approaching me. I frowned. Lee was big man, not tall, but broad. An ex-marine, he had fought in a couple different wars, Ander included. I say all this because I know that he didn’t have to stomp. He literally could have been on top of me without my knowing it.
    He was holding one hand in the other behind his back, giving me a hard look. Come to think of it, he usually was. He held himself with the dignity of a priest and the ram-rod stance of a drill sergeant. His coal-black hair and sharp, perfectly maintained goatee were beginning to go gray but he still retained the health of his youth. His dress was immaculate, kept to a greater cleanliness than any priest, or soldier for that matter, than I had ever known. Cold blue eyes stared though the lenses of a set of small, wire rimmed spectacles.
    “Hello, McDane,” he said simply, his gravelly voice expressing his displeasure.
    My respect, tranquility, and just general lack of sarcasm dried up as quickly as it had appeared. I smiled the smile I usually give before someone tries to punch me. “Hello, Iggy. How’s it going in the preaching