Excerpt: Jade Fist

The edge of the wood was peaceful. Not a calm before a storm peaceful either, genuinely full of serenity. Some deer grazed near the tree line on the outskirts of a tilled field. Jared narrowed his eyes and the distance shortened and he could see beyond the field to the farm house. He played with his focus and a clothes line came into view. Some breeches and a shirt or two hung from the line. He hoped they were dry.
The early morning was still wrapped in darkness close to full night but Jared knew that dawn’s transition was far quicker than that of dusk. He leapt into action, clearing the perimeter fence and sprinting toward the far side and the farm house. As he neared, he picked up the scent of horses coming from the larger of two barns. Luck was with him.
The woman of the house was up when he reached the clothesline. He could smell the delicious scent of bacon frying. His stomach grumbled. It had been too long since he last ate a full meal. Looking over his shoulder, he pulled the trousers off the line and thanked the spirits that they were dry. Slipping them on, he was happy to see that they were only a little short in the leg, and he could just tie off the waist. The shirts were a better fit, looser and cut well.
Looking down at his bare feet he wished that back stoop of the farm house had a pair of work boots waiting, but his luck did not carry that far. It was not that he minded bare feet. In some ways he actually preferred it but, if he wanted to blend in, if he wanted to avoid uneasy questions, he would need boots or shoes. There will be other houses along the way, he thought to himself as he crept toward the large barn.
A line of light dusted the eastern horizon as he opened the barn door. Time was short. Inside he spied a saddle and tack hung on the wall. It was clear that the farmer took good care of his equipment. The leather was well oiled and the metal polished to a shine.
There were four horses in the barn, an ox and some goats. Jared stood before the first stall with a horse and looked at the animal. There was a spark as he caught the animals eyes and he knew the animal; its capabilities, past injuries, current health and more. Sturdy but slow this horse was a cart puller and nothing more. The second horse was by Jared’s estimation the woman-of-the-house’s horse. Small and dainty, if fair to look at, at least as far as animals go. The third was his horse. He knew it even without the spark. Standing seventeen hands, it was tall and its black mane blended in nicely with its charcoal coat. The animal had powerful legs and rump. It was a runner.
The horse took the saddle and tack without fuss and was easily led from its stall. As he led the horse to the barn doors, he caught sight of a few things. A bag lay in a shadowed corner containing a couple of blankets, a small knife; about four inches long with a serrated back edge, flint and starter wood. Next to the bag was a bushel of apples. These were not your market worthy apples. Many were misshapen and bruised but, they were good treats for a horse. He emptied the bushel in the bag and then strung the bag over his shoulders.
The horizon danced with light above the dark slash of the woods. Soon dawn would truly break and, if these people were the decent farmers he guessed them to be, they would be up and about any moment. Deftly, he jumped into the saddle and nudged the horse toward the far side of the barn and the path leading to the road.
The farmhouse door opened and shut with a bang. The woman of the house had come out to collect the laundry. Seeing it missing, she gave out a yell. A dog barked and then another. They sounded to be big dogs; big hungry dogs. He kicked the horse into a gallop and she thundered down the path, clumps of earth spraying up into the air in its wake.
He was twenty yards from the gate when the dogs rounded the side of the house. Wolf-hounds, with thick gray coats, bounded across the lawn in pursuit. Ten yards from the gate. It was closed. He would need to jump the fence.
Five yards from the fence. The horse tensed and then locked up, skidding through the dirt and sending a cloud of choking dust into the air. Damn! The dogs were not far now and sounded as if they just might take down the horse to get at Jared. He took a deep breath and slipped from the saddle onto the ground. He gave the horse a calming pat and turned to face the salivating beasts.
He knelt down on one knee with his right arm leaning against his right thigh. He rolled his head to the right and cracked his neck, rolled it left and cracked it again. He then let out a growl. Not an ordinary growl. Not some human sounding thing, no, this was bestial, unearthly and sinister. The two dogs yelped as they too skidded to a stop. Wary, the wolf-hounds circled. They were moving in different directions, trying to draw the attention from each other. Smart dogs, he thought as he caught sight of the woman of the house round the corner. She stopped when she saw him and wrung her hands on her apron. Her husband came up beside her. He had a pitchfork in his hand.
Jared took a deep breath and talked to the dogs. Not in the way people talk, but in simple vocal, mental and scent combinations. Images of fangs and claws rending flesh, a low, gravelly growl and a strong musk scent emanated from Jared. I am stronger, he said to them. I am faster. You will back down.
The dogs sat back on their haunches.
Jared slowly straightened up and made eye contact with the farmer.
“Take the lead from your dogs, Farmer. Pitchfork or not you will not walk away.”
The farmer took a stuttered step and then halted, still a good distance from Jared.
“Smart man. Thanks for the horse.”
Jared turned his back on the man and dogs and unhitched the gate, leaving it to swing open. Without another glance, he jumped up into the saddle and guided the horse down the path to the road and beyond.