Jarek the Scholar: Secrets of the Road: The Adventures of Jarek the Scholar

By Cliff Hamrick

Jarek leaves the safety of the City to travel far and wide.

A cursed priestess
Hidden chambers
Strange afflictions

Danger lurks at his every step.

In order to survive, Jarek must learn the secrets of the road!

Discover the epic deeds of Jarek the Scholar, a new pulp hero, inside this anthology of fantasy and mystery.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Fiery Blade Publishing
• Release date: May 12, 2025
• ISBN: 9798231689170

Book preview

Jarek the Scholar

SECRETS OF THE ROAD

CLIFF HAMRICK

FIERY BLADE PUBLISHING

The Lady in Stone first appeared in Swords and Heroes (2023)

Copyright © 2025 by Cliff Hamrick

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

Contents

The Priestess of Callata

Poison in the Dark

The Cure for the Sleeping Woman

The Lady in Stone

The Mystery Under the Manor

Thank You!

About the Author

The Priestess of Callata

Jarek laid back on the rough-hewn, uncovered wagon loaded with sacks and barrels of salt and dried foodstuffs. He used a sack of grain for a pillow as the bumps in the road jarred him just enough to keep him awake.

Though he slept well enough the night before, the deep fog and overcast sky lulled him back to sleep. He wrapped his arms around his chest. His cotton and leather clothes did little to keep out the chill of the morning fog.

Even if there wasn't fog, there was little to look at. Flat, grassy plains to the east, and the Oshar Sea to the west. He could smell its salty spray even over the musky odor of the oxen pulling the wagon.

He chose to ride on this wagon today, like every other day of the week-long journey, because no one bothered him. Even the teamster driving the wagon said little more than good morning. The wagon stayed at the back of the caravan because it carried cheap goods that would not be missed if stolen.

The most important cargo rode in the front of the caravan where the guards could most easily defend it.

Slaves.

Two wagons of a few dozen slaves were kept in the front of the caravan just behind the small, private carriage of Nerimer, the slaver who hoped to sell them. Unlike every other slaver Jarek met in these southern lands, Nerimer was neither fat nor bald. He was scrawny to the point of being emaciated, and his hair was black and bushy. Jarek thought he looked like a painter's brush minus the usefulness. Of course, Nerimer dressed in fine clothes even on a long caravan trip.

Jarek didn't know who he was trying to impress. The slaves had no choice but to appreciate his choice of attire, and the guards and the teamsters did not care. The guards only appreciated the one perk given to them by Nerimer. A slave a night to keep them company when they weren't on watch. Of course, even the guards who were supposed to be on watch still snuck off to grab up some defenseless slave to enjoy. And, when the guards weren't abusing the slaves, they were abusing the slaver's wine casks.

At least the teamsters minded their business. They only cared about their wagons and the beasts of burden that pulled them, though a few of them drank a bit too much at night. But how sober does one really need to be to sit on a wagon as it plods along a straight road?

Jarek wanted to distract himself from the slurring voice of a guard who never seemed to tire of jeering at one of the slaves. He pulled a map out of his leather bag and studied it for the third time that morning. Besides, there wasn't much else to do.

The Iron Road led from the city of Ebesu along the Oshar Sea and towards the Dupar Mountains. The slaver was taking his living cargo to the mining towns in the mountains. Most of the slaves would work in a lightless hole for the rest of their very short lives. Others would serve in some brothel. A lucky few would be picked up by some merchant or magistrate as a personal servant.

Jarek calculated another three days before reaching the mountains. He heard rumors of a rare metal found in one of the deepest mines. Stronger than iron yet more malleable than gold. He planned to study it in hopes that he could discover an application of the metal beyond weaponry. Of course, it could all be just a waste of time. Rumors spread through taverns faster than wine. But when an alchemist he knew to be reliable stated that he received a sample and wished to have more, Jarek decided to make the trip himself.

Jarek put the map away as he heard the clip-clop of a horse walking towards the wagon. It was Dolig, one of the guards. Jarek knew this because Dolig insisted on saying his name repeatedly as if Jarek would forget it. Or cared to remember.

Northman! It is Dolig, said Dolig.

As a sergeant of the guards, he was one of the few that rode a horse. They were a disorganized force which was evident by their lack of uniform armor or weapons. Dolig wore brigandine armor with a conical helmet and carried a scimitar. Common equipment for mercenaries in the south.

Northman, Nerimer will speak with you. He sent Dolig to tell you.

Of course, it didn't matter to Nerimer that Jarek didn't want to speak with him.

What about? Jarek asked.

Nerimer did not say. He said, 'Dolig, bring the learned one' and so you will come now.

Jarek didn't have to ask what would happen if he refused. He'd likely be chased from the caravan and have to make the trek to the Dupar mountains on his own. The trip would be long and dangerous, and he didn't bring enough food to survive on his own.

Besides, he was curious why a slaver who never said two words to him over the course of a week would suddenly want to talk to him.

Jarek slung his leather bag over his shoulder and slid out of the back of the wagon. Once Dolig saw he was complying, he trotted his horse back to the front of the caravan and disappeared into the soft glow of fog.

Jarek jogged up past the other wagons of the caravan. His leather boots scuffed on the dirt road, kicking up pebbles as he went. He looked up at the slaves in the wagons. Most kept their eyes down. Some had their eyes closed.

One met his gaze.

She was beautiful despite the road dirt on her face and cotton rags. Her coppery skin and black hair marked her as a southern woman, most likely from a village further south of Ebesu. She appeared to be a little older than Jarek, but age did not mar her beauty.

What stood out the most were her eyes. They were brilliant green, unlike the dark brown of most southerners. She showed none of the despair or submission of the other slaves. Her face seemed to radiate through the fog.

She looked into his eyes with proud determination.

He looked away.

Jarek was already out of breath when he reached Nerimer's private carriage. The slaver opened a silk curtain to reveal his thin face and yellow silk robe.

See to one of the slaves, he said.

What do you mean?

One of them is sick. Panata, I think is her name. Heal her.

I'm not a healer.

You are a scholar, yes? You have read many books, yes? One of them will tell you how to heal her. So do it.

Jarek knew he couldn't refuse, but he was still curious.

What do you care about one of your slaves?

She's quite lovely. She will fetch a high price from one of the magistrates. Heal her and you will be paid.

Nerimer signaled the conversation was over by sliding the curtain closed. Jarek slowed his jog to let the slave wagons reach him so he could climb up. The beautiful slave's face met his as he pulled himself up. He caught his breath as she studied him with those defiant green eyes.

He said, Are you Panata?

No, I am Nyda, she replied with a voice as strong as her gaze. Panata is here.

Jarek climbed into the wagon and saw another southern slave girl laying on the floor of the crowded wagon. She was young. Too young for such a hard life. Just on the cusp of womanhood. Her hair and skin were as dark as Nyda's, though her eyes were closed.

Jarek knelt next to her. She was in the throes of a fever. Her head and face were hot when he touched her skin. Her cotton clothes were soaked with sweat.

You don't need to do this,