The Trial of Bells and Blood: Legends of Cirena, #8

By Stephanie Flint

A deranged god of justice, a duelist who reluctantly serves him, and an ex-soldier turned merchant who dares fight back.

To protect an innocent student from a vengeful god, Hahven took their place in being judged. He expected to die in the resulting duel, not be chosen as the god's newest champion. Now he's forced to serve the god's crooked sense of justice or risk negating the deal to protect his student.

He dreads what his god might eventually ask of him.
 

The god cursed him with a chesnathé horn that intrudes on his thoughts with the desire to kill those he deems guilty, or grant immortality to those he finds worthy.

Elsewhere in Cirena, Alia is burdened by a mistake she hasn't forgiven herself for, despite her determination to forget her past as a soldier and make the most of her new life as a merchant. She's about to set out on her own when an old enemy makes a plea to the god of justice to destroy her for her past crimes.

Intrigued, the god sends Hahven to convince Alia to serve him instead. If Hahven succeeds, he'll be permitted to live a human lifetime before being called again to his god's service.

But then Alia would be trapped for eternity with the god, the same as him.

Luckily for Hahven, the decision isn't his. Alia must willingly make the pledge. And the choice she makes will test Hahven's increasingly irritable horn, and force Alia to reconsider whether or not she's really done protecting the innocent from those who mean harm.

Preorder The Trial of Bells and Blood today!

 

~ Each of these Legends of Cirena stories can be read stand-alone: ~

* The Wind Mage of Maijev (Livena)
* The Gryphon and the Mountain Bear (Nuaka)
* The Restless Sands of Neel (Ro'nor)
* The Cursed Halls of Kalecen (Hahven)
* The Scars of Her Past (Alia)
* The Dragons of the Mist (Zynia)

~ Crossovers (It will help to have read the previous stories involving the featured characters): ~

* The Wind Mage and the Wolf - Features Livena (The Wind Mage of Maijev) and Nuaka (The Gryphon and the Mountain Bear)
* The Trial of Bells and Blood - Features Hahven (The Cursed Halls of Kalecen) and Alia (The Scars of Her Past)

• Language: English
• Publisher: Infinitas Publishing
• Release date: Jul 20, 2021
• ISBN: 9781393908562

Stephanie Flint

Stephanie Flint (formerly Stephanie Bibb) graduated from the University of Central Missouri with a Bachelor of Science in photography and a minor in creative writing. She merged the two interests into book cover design and photographic illustration, but she particularly enjoys writing speculative fiction. Stephanie lives with her husband, Isaac. Together they plot stories in the form of tabletop role-play games, and they enjoy the occasional cosplay. Online, Stephanie often goes by the nickname of SBibb.

Book preview

The Trial of Bells and Blood

A Novella from the Legends of Cirena

by Stephanie Flint

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is entirely coincidental.

Copyright 2021 by Stephanie Flint

Formatting and cover design by Stephanie Flint

Daz assets used in the cover design

All rights reserved. Published by Infinitas Publishing.

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infinitaspublishing.com

Table of Contents

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Six

Seven

Eight

Nine

Ten

Eleven

Twelve

Thirteen

Fourteen

Newsletter

Acknowledgements

About the Author

Glossary

Also by the Author

TWB---magic-swirl-glyph_small_highres ONE TWB---magic-swirl-glyph_small_highres

Warm sunlight filtered into the courtyard of Hahven’s early morning class. He walked between each row of students, the stench of sweat mixing with the perfume of the spring flowers potted under each of the courtyard’s arches. The headmaster—or rather, one of the plant mages working under the headmaster—had made it clear that none of those flowers were to lose so much as a single petal due to Hahven’s work teaching students to fight. So he made sure that each pupil—punching, ducking, and wishing they hadn’t signed up for his class—was well enough away.

Usually, such classes were the highlight of his mornings. But this morning had dawned with a nagging sensation in the back of his head, akin to being poked in the ear every time he looked at his students. He sensed their guilt, their glory...

I didn’t study hard enough, did I?

I passed Master Elian’s test!

I shouldn’t have gotten into that fight last night—

Why didn’t I write home last winter?

He clenched his jaw and focused on the flower pots with their pale blue and purple blossoms. They wavered in the breeze without a care as to what his students thought. Relaxed. Like a flower. He would be a far better instructor if he was relaxed. Never mind that the cursed chesnathé horn poking from his forehead had started prodding his thoughts more frequently. That curved, twisting horn was meant for passing judgment, a so-called gift from a deranged god of justice.

His students wouldn’t think it a gift. Neither would his peers.

He did his best to hide the horn with illusion magic. He didn’t need his students looking at him in fear. He needed them listening to what he said and understanding what he demonstrated. Staring at his forehead would get them killed if they got in a fight and hadn’t paid attention. But with all these guilty consciences pressuring the back of his mind, how in the ever-shifting Plain of Strings was he supposed to focus?

Hahven forced his shoulders to loosen. He’d need to pay a visit to the temple priestess and see if she’d found any more literature regarding the powers of a chesnathé’s horn.

For now, though, he continued down the row before stopping beside a young man whose form was too stiff. Without giving the student warning, he slammed his palm underneath the young man’s arm. The student yelped, curving and managing to avoid most of the blow—but not the practice punches of the person next to him.

A wave of panicked guilt flared from the student who had inadvertently hit him, but it passed, despite their surprised face. I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean—

Always be ready to adapt, Hahven growled at both of them. You’re learning these movements so you’ll be quick. But an enemy won’t match your moves. They’ll exceed them. He glanced at the young man. You dodged me well, but neglected to pay attention to your surroundings. And you— He glanced to the young student whose blow had hit. Watch for when your partners are in trouble. Dueling is solitary, but if you get into a fight, you can’t always expect to fight alone.

Yes, professor, they both mumbled.

Good. Now get back in formation.

The young man grimaced and rubbed his back before settling into the routine. Hahven watched, waiting for any other weaknesses to show. He was almost satisfied with their renewed performance when a chiming tinkle of bells echoed over the grunts of his students.

Chills dripped down his spine. He glanced around the sunny courtyard for a glint of white robes or a flash of black hair, but there was no sign of his master’s blood-thirsty champion. No sign of her waiting to berate him or plunge a dagger into his back, never mind that they had been forbidden from fighting each other.

Hahven... An icy voice filled his head. He closed his eyes and gritted his teeth. Come to me now. I have a mission for you.

Hahven swallowed hard before looking back to the students he’d been instructing. They’d have to continue on their own.

Are you okay, professor? The young man frowned. He wouldn’t have heard that cursed voice and, since he was new to the academy, he would have only heard rumors of Hahven’s dealings with Kalecen, especially since Hahven kept his horn concealed.

Hahven dug a wooden token from his pocket and passed it to the student. A simple piece, inscribed only with his name. A way for him to tell the academy’s headmaster he’d been summoned by Kalecen. Take this to the headmaster. He’ll know what it means. No one could complain about him leaving. Not when the god of justice was being gracious enough to let him return to the mortal realm at all.

Not that Hahven considered Kalecen just.

The young man flipped the wooden token in his hands, confused, but scurried off. The student knew better than to question Hahven after the way he drilled urgency into his pupils.

Hahven turned to the rest of his class where they stepped through his routines. Continue practicing until the bell tolls for dismissal. Then you are dismissed. He nodded curtly and took his leave without explanation. Better that they didn’t know he was a champion, called off on some mission. He didn’t need the rumors and the whispers, or the wary glances he’d get if they knew the truth.

Hahven returned to his office and unclasped the smooth chain necklace from around his neck. He pooled the thin chain into his palm, stopping only to examine the pale brown crystal at the end of its length. A gift from Sandri and the headmaster, a crystal which had been enchanted with ribbons of light magic to keep his horn hidden. Only a light mage or someone with magic’s sight would know he had this enchantment. He pressed his fingertips to the base of the horn on his forehead, where the horn twisted and spiraled into a wicked curve, almost a hand and a half long—plenty long enough to cause damage.

For the first few months after Kalecen gave him that horn, he’d managed to conceal the cursed thing by letting his hair grow longer. But then his hair betrayed him, growing white at the roots and then everywhere else well before he should have had white hair. He’d been thankful when the headmaster presented him with the illusion enchantment, Sandri’s idea.

And, thankfully, Sandri was alive and well, not suffering in eternal torment at the hands of his new master.

Hahven let out his breath and carefully placed the crystal in a pouch at his side. The headmaster was fine with him hiding that curse, but Kalecen wouldn’t be. Kalecen wanted him to bear the mark proudly—to show the world what he’d made Hahven become.

The god would have to settle with Hahven bearing the mark without pride.

He slid the scabbards of his dueling swords onto his belt and then he removed a small statuette of the god from his desk. Made from crystal, but with obsidian eyes, it showed the chesnathé god with a horn dagger upraised and his free hand curled around the neck of some unseen victim. A snarling visage and a broken horn graced his features. Faint red cracks rose through the crystal, giving the appearance of bulging veins. Not the most pleasant of watcher’s statues, but it was the only one Hahven had managed to find on short notice after pledging himself. Since he didn’t plan to decorate with the statuette, he supposed it didn’t really matter how it looked.

He placed the statuette on the desk and bowed his head. I am ready, your graciousness.

His heart lurched and he no longer stood in his office. Bells jangled in disharmony, and he caught a glimpse of the pale woman with black hair who had teleported him. She whirled away from him in a swoosh of her silky robes before flashing him a scowl of sharpened teeth. Eventually his graciousness won’t waste his time with you. Once you botch this mission and I have to clean up your mess, he’ll stop fawning over you. Don’t get used to being his favorite. She flicked a bell at Hahven before she vanished again. The bell dropped harmlessly to the floor, tinkling as it rolled away. Hahven let out a slow breath. She still bore a grudge for him winning against her in battle, and she only worked with him because of Kalecen’s decree.

But now that she had left, all that remained was the desolated hall of his master. His body felt weighted with lead. Gone was the warm light of early spring and the fresh smell of blooming lilacs. This hall was musty, and it stank of mold and rot. Gray winter light filtered through high, arched windows of the ruined