Excerpt from Dark Pilgrim Rising

book one of the Dark Pilgrim series. 

This is a grand scale sci-fi work, of which four books

  are already published.  Check it out at my web-site!

In the last two months she had received, perhaps been

 assaulted by would be a more accurate term as much as the diplomats

 threatened and cajoled, the representative diplomats from both the Lesser

 House St. Peter of the Sacred Consecration and the Greater House

 Aldebaren.  They had both wanted the same thing:  join forces with them and

 help overthrow the Imperium.  She had told them both, politely, that she

 wasn’t interested.  Her loyalty was with the Imperium and the Prime

 House Volans through the Treaty of Praxos Prime and the Greater House

 Prabhasa didn’t intend to breach that treaty any time soon.

    But the visitor waiting now in the anteroom was one she would not

 have expected.  At least not yet.  Lord Cardinal Nerodia of the Church

 Prime House St. Paul of the Redeemed Spirit was a formidable opponent.

  His House controlled twenty systems, five more than the Prime House

 Volans controlled as an individual House -- as the seat of the Imperium,

 the Prime House Volans indirectly controlled well over one hundred

 systems -- and the Church Prime House St. Paul was also the Seat of The

 Church of the Blessed Prophets, a power-house of its own with billions upon

 billions of souls ready and willing to die for their faith.

Lord Cardinal Prabhasa was certain she knew why the Lord Cardinal

 Nerodia was here.  And it bothered her.  If the Church Prime House St. Paul

 was about to ask her what she thought they were about to ask her, it

 would begin an entirely new level to the rebellion against the Imperium.

 It was a level into which she was not yet ready to step.  To include

 The Church of the Blessed Prophets in any discussion was to bargain with

 a powerhouse ready to use any means at its disposal to achieve its end

 and Nerodia was well known for making certain that the deals he was

 asked to negotiate turned into reality.

    Thus, she was not looking forward to this meeting at all.

    Her receiving room was not large, but it was comfortable.  Several

 high-backed cushioned chairs lay scattered about in apparent disorder,

 but each had been precisely placed to allow Prabhasa to exert maximum

 control on any discussions that might arise.  Large windows framed the

 far wall, but the heavy velvet curtains effectively blocked out any

 sun-light, the only light in the room supplied from widely placed

 hover-bulbs casting subdued, easy shadows into the corners and giving the room a

 feeling of relaxation; peace.  The walls, the wooden panels glowing

 with the natural oils of the tree most prevalent on this planet, were

 adorned with holo-photos of the glory that was the Greater House Prabhasa,

 retelling the tale of the House's rise to glory. Guard droids hovered

 innocuously in the shadowed corners, quiet, watching, waiting.  Most

 visitors never noticed the loaded weapons on the droids, which was fine

 with the Lord Cardinal.  Those who failed to notice were generally !

 those about whom she didn't need to worry.

    Lord Cardinal Prabhasa stood in the receiving room -- she rarely

 liked  to sit when receiving -- her exquisite silk dress of glistening

 off-white ivory with pleats and touches of blue and lavender flowers

 tapering along the hemline, fit her tall, lean body snugly, the bodice with

 its red lace highlights tight against her too small bosom.  A floral

 of leaves and wild-flowers, picked this morning for maximum freshness,

 ringed her jet-black hair hanging down to her shoulders in cascades of

 perfectly arranged curls, just the slightest grace of gray at the

 temples.  Her bright almond-shaped amber eyes could change from luxuriant

 sophistication to burning anger in a heart-beat, yet always held the

 tiniest hint of humor, as if life itself were just at the edge of being

 funny.  At the moment, her eyes were expectant, curious, wary.  Most would

 call her face handsome, the small wrinkles that had set in around her

 eyes and prim mouth -- thin lips elegantly trimmed in the barest to!

 uch of mauve -- spoke of her age more than her smooth, tan-tinted,

 taunt skin. 

    Her nose was the only part marring her looks. 

    It was too large for her long face, the slight bump at the bridge

 distinguishing her as one born on Abraham's Rest, her high cheekbones

 giving her a look of grandeur one could only attain through heredity.

  She was known for her stern hauteur and calm demeanor, known for her

 humor and sudden mood swings.  But mostly she was known for her refusal to

 be harassed or intimidated into doing anything she didn't want to do.

  Many a representative diplomat had left her receiving room perplexed

 and angry.  Even after thousands of years, human males still felt somehow

 threatened by dominate women who beat them at their own game.

    She spoke quietly yet regally to the servant droid, her voice a

 melodious mixture of raindrops on a needle-carpeted forest floor, and

 bubbling creek.  "You may show the honored ambassador in."

    It took but a few minutes for the man waiting to see her to step

 through the tall, gold-gilded wooden doors, the smile on his face like a

 mask of deception.  He was tall and muscular, his broad shoulders at

 least twice hers, his stride purposeful and confident.  His face looked

 as if it had been hand-chiseled out of hard granite, its features like

 those from the legends; strong, firm, hard.  Most women would call the

 Lord Cardinal Nerodia beautiful, his sparkling green eyes like a beam of

 a powerful laser; when they honed in on a woman, they knew without a

 doubt that he was the one they would marry.  His sandy-blond hair was

 perfect, every hair in place, none daring to move for fear of his

 reaction.  His hands were large and strong, his fingernails manicured to near

 perfection.

    Dubois Prabhasa was quite astonished to see the Lord Cardinal

 himself striding toward her, unescorted by the usual minions settling around

 him like flies to the mitten heap, but she kept her face stoic and

 passive, raising but an eyebrow at his arrival.  She was not one of those

 who swooned whenever they saw the man.  She knew better.  The Lord

 Cardinal was not the man that his features suggested.  He was by far one of

 the slipperiest and conniving men she had ever had the displeasure to

 know.  He had no scruples when it came to getting what he wanted, what

 he thought was his right and the right of The Church of the Blessed

 Prophets.  She sometimes believed that Nerodia thought he should be the

 Dei Glorium and was upset that no one else agreed with him.

    She suspected that were the man not to wear that cloak, with its

 nine bands and presumptuous hand and starburst that was the symbol of The

 Church of the Blessed Prophets, he might be more likable.  The cloak

 was meant to represent peace through the Creator, but she better

 understood it as peace through the use of violence, a legacy denied

 vehemently, of course by those who served the violence that was The Church.

    As it was, she truly hated the man and for what he stood.

That he had been sent by the Dei Glorium -- the Church Prime House St.

 Paul didn't go to the bathroom without permission and detailed

 instructions from The Church of the Blessed Prophets -- she had no doubt.

  Whatever it was they wanted, they must want it very badly.  The Lord

 Cardinal himself didn’t make state calls of this nature useless it was of

 primary importance. That changed the entire tact she was expecting to

 take with this meeting.  Now she would have to be careful, very careful

 about how she approached this and what she said.  The Church of the

 Blessed Prophets could twist one's words around to the point that rather

 than condemning them openly, one was supporting them with open-arms.

  They had a strangle hold on the news-media hanging on every move made and

 it was a simple matter of leaking information to their followers to

 insert The Church of the Blessed Prophet’s version of the truth into the

 hearts and minds of billions.

    She frowned at him a moment, then planted a small, false smile on

 her face.  "My Lord Cardinal.  This is indeed a surprise.  To what do I

 owe the pleasure of a visit from such a distinguished dignity?" The

 words burned on her tongue as they came out.  But she had to start off

 nice.  She was certain that anger and threats would shortly follow.  They

 always did when she and he got together.   

    He stopped several feet from her and bowed in solemnity of a

 parody, a sweeping gesture making her smirk.  "I understand that you’ve

 been recently visited by diplomats from the Lesser House St. Peter and the

 Greater House Aldebaren."  His voice was smooth and sleek, like rain

 running off leaves, oil draining from a pen.  He spoke the words Lesser

 House St. Peter and Greater House Aldebaren as if they were plagues,

 heresies of The Church of the Blessed Prophets of the worst kind without

 hope for redemption.  "I certainly hope that you’ve not entered into

 any alliances that The Church of the Blessed Prophets or the Imperium

 would not look too kindly upon."  It was not a question.