It is almost dawn as Hart crouches, concealed in the rocky bluffs above a forest on the edge of a sea of black sand. The first rays of the sun crest the foothills at his back and cast shifting shadows on the dunes, creating the illusion of black ocean waves, rolling in slow motion.

A caravan of huge wagons is spread out below him in the forest on the edge of the vast desert. The wagons are an impressive sight – more like massive rolling vaults than the open-sided wagons that are common further north. The cabins are constructed of thick wood and festooned with watch lanterns like mobile fortresses. Judging by the heavy ruts leading out of the sandy wastes, it’s clear that the wagons crossed the desert on sled-like runners. But since they’ve been parked, a dwarf with a pronounced limp seems to be in charge of converting them to roll on massive, iron-clad wheels, using an ingenious system of replaceable struts.

In hiding, Hart has observed the caravan for the past two days. Agents of the government sent word that this caravan must reach the border wall safely and ordered rangers to escort it across the kingdom. The council of the rangers chose to send him – their youngest member. He is Hart Harrwitz, second son of the noble House of Harrwitz, and newly sworn to the order of Rangers of Vudlinar. A grim smile tugs at the corner of his mouth, as he recalls his mentor’s teachings.

When a job calls for brawn, send a warrior. When it calls for magic, send a wizard. When it must be done well... Send a ranger.

That aphorism would often preclude lashes from a strap because he’d failed to meet mentor's standards in some task, or test. Ranger Zobek’s methods were harsh --he tolerated nothing less than perfection-but they turned Hart into the capable ranger he is today.

Nearby, a paddock of wahashas are chewing at stacks of hay. These lumbering pack beasts pull the wagons. The huge, hairy creatures are a rare sight this far north-- they're native to the desert, where packs of them roam wild across the sand. These are certainly all male, as they appear to be too large to be female. If so, he surmises that they must have been castrated to make them docile enough for this type of labor.

He spots two guards lounging on the bales of hay, and he shakes his head. The men-at-arms guarding the caravan are loud, undisciplined, and sloppy. Over the past two days, he's snuck into the camp several times, seeking to test their awareness and readiness. Naturally, they failed. He has dined well on stolen provisions from their stores, while the guards remained puzzled by this missing food. Lacking explanation, they blamed each other and thieving animals.

He has also placed several snares and deadfalls in the shrubbery surrounding the camp. These could serve to ward off natural predators, should any become curious. But they’re also placed to cut off natural avenues of approach. If intruders come near, he will be alerted as they get caught up in the traps. Once ensnared, he’ll only need a second to sight them with his bow.

His eyes drift over the curved black wood of his weapon. The black bow is the signature of the rangers -- hewn from the branches of a Spirit Oak at the heart of the forest and bent into shape by the magic of Druids. Trapped intruders don’t stand a chance, and would likely be dead before they knew where the bow fire was coming from.

He glances back at the rising sun. He was ordered to meet the caravan on this day, but Ranger Zobek drilled a simple mantra into his head a thousand times.

Early is on time. On time is late. Late is unacceptable.

As the sun clears the horizon, he decides it’s time to reveal himself.

Making a strong first impression is important.

But how? He wonders.

He has toyed with two strategies for approaching the caravan. He could evade the lazy sentries and just walk into camp. Or, he could coax them to come to him by revealing himself atop a rock against the morning sky.

Either way, it’s time to make his move.

He stands up on a tall boulder, silhouetted against the morning sky. It only takes a few moments for the guards to spot him. Once they do, they cluster in a group and advance on his position.

The guards are armed with two guns, spears and scimitars, and they wear only loose-fitting robes. Their gear makes sense -- the Black Desert is too hot for full body armor, and the slashing edges of their curved swords are ideal for unarmored enemies. Despite their Southland garb and weapons, these light-skinned men are obviously Northlanders.

The burly man in the lead is clearly the captain. As they approach, he gestures at Hart with his spear. "Come down here and surrender your weapons."

Hart remains motionless as he answer, "The Council of the Rangers sent me with instructions to see this caravan safely to Border wall."

The captain grits his teeth. "I don't care who you are. Lay down your arms, or we'll come up there and take them from you!"

"Captain," he begins. "I don't think you understand. You're not in control here." He languidly draws an arrow from his quiver on his back and nock it in his black bow.

The dwarf has been observing the entire scene. He limps quickly towards the cluster of soldiers, waving his arms. "Stop!" he shouts.

The guards half-turn as he approaches. "Captain Jouque," he pants, catching his breath, "It's best you don't antagonize this man."

“Just call me Captain, dwarf!" he says. "And I am not concerned with this man," the captain says, spitting in the dirt. "We could be up those rocks in the blink of an eye." He gestures at Hart with his chin. "He might get off one arrow, but we'd drag him down, for sure."

Another guy points a gun "Or we can shoot."

Hart draws and releases his arrow in one smooth motion. The shaft buries itself directly at the feet of the guard to the captain's left. He quickly draws and fires again, burying a second arrow at the feet of the guard on the right. By the time they register what happened, he has a third arrow nocked and ready to fire.

The captain's face turns red in fury. "Bah! So, you can hit the dirt. What does that prove?"

Hart eyes him coolly., "My master taught me a lesson long ago, captain...," he says just loudly enough to carry down to the captain. He draws the bowstring back again and aims.

The dwarf yells, "No!"

But it's too late. There is a deep thrumming sound as he releases the arrow, followed by a loud thwack.

The captain soon realizes that he is not shot. Instead, Hart's arrow has split the shaft of his spear. He drops his splintered weapon in surprise and stares at Hart with his eyes wide.

The other guy is about to pull trigger, but another arrow shoots before anyone can even think. The gun is not in his hand anymore. The arrow precisely took away the gun from him and pinned the gun to a tree residing behind them.

"As I was saying, only a fool would rush a nocked arrow. I trust you have now learned that lesson as well."

Apparently too rattled to speak, the captain merely nods.

Hart leaps down the rocks to join the men below.

When he lands, the dwarf appears to size him up as he looks at him from head to toe. "So," he begins, stroking his mustache. "The counsil has sent us a ranger to escort us across the kingdom. And by the look of you, still in the first flush of youth."

His comment stings a little. It's true that Hart has only recently been ordained as a member of the order, but he is a full brother.

He shrugs, "When a job must be done well…"

The dwarf scowls and interrupts, "Send a ranger. Yes, yes. I've heard that old saw many times before. But, Vudlinar is in turmoil. They are in internal conflict with border soldiers.

Hunters and bandits are lurking.

One bow won't be enough to protect the entire caravan."

"I will do more than shoot," Hart answers, eyeing the three guards. "I will scout and help raise the security of the entire caravan. And we will start by setting a better perimeter watch."

The captain bristles at his words. "We saw you coming. We had plenty of time to react."

Hart shakes his head. "No, captain. The first time you or any of your men saw me was when I revealed myself on the rocks. However, I have been in your camp many times over the last few nights."

The captain snorts in disbelief, "Impossible!"

Quickly, he pulls a small bottle from his cloak. “Personally, I do not care for this stuff."

The captain’s eyes widen and then his face darkens. “You stole that from me."

“I was going to give it to anyone who even came close to finding me, but since no one ever did, you may as well have it back." Hart tosses the bottle to the captain who catches it, deftly.

“Ah, that’s where the Hydra went," says the dwarf as he gives the captain a wry smile. “You promised to share it with me when the wheels got switched. I thought you were keeping it for yourself."

The captain inspects the etchings on the whisky bottle as though trying to determine if this was his bottle of Hydra that went missing.

Soon, the guards, the dwarf, and even the captain fall silent as they stare at Hart.

Hart begins to stride towards the wagons in the distance. "We will review the guard postings and sight lines as soon as we reach camp."

The wagons are scheduled to roll within an hour, and the captain seeks him out. "We're ready to ride," he says, dusting his hands.

Hart looks at the distribution of the guards over the wagons, noting their positions. "You've done well, captain."

"What about you?" he asks. "Where will you ride?"

Hart shakes his head. "I won't be on the wagons. I will be beside the caravan, watching our flanks and scouting ahead."

The captain looks him up and down. "But you're on foot," he says. "You can't keep pace with wagons… Can you?"

Hart nods once. "With the blessing of the nature gods, like the cougar, I shall move through the wild swiftly and out of sight."

“The nature gods…" he begins with a smirk and then lets his sentence trail off and adopts a more serious expression. He nods at his black bow and wipes beads of sweat from his brow. "Blessings or not, I pity anyone who approaches so recklessly."

After an uneventful first day, the sun is rising on the second day on the trail. Daybreak streams over the peaks of the hills, streaking the clouds with a fiery orange glow. The black desert is far behind him now as the terrain continues in a slow rise towards the mountain range known as the Southern Gate. The highest peaks loom ahead of Hart, still a day's march or more away.

He is scouting ahead of the wagons when he catches a glimpse of a small herd of deer racing through the underbrush ahead. They're clearly spooked, and one of the bucks stops in a clearing and glances up at the sky before racing on to catch up with the other animals.

That was a big male, and the herd itself was a good size. Only a dangerous presence would cause such a commotion. Something is wrong. He turns to alert the guards on the wagons and spots the danger immediately.

A group of bandits coming from behind the caravan, masked by the glare of the morning sun.

Hart screams, "Look out!" But it's too late.

The black silhouette gets close enough to blot out the morning glare, and Hart can see that it's a dangerous bandit group.

This is the guard’s wagon. It has a wooden parapet built into the roof. A guard with a gun stands within the parapet. However, when he sees the bandit diving down at him, he panics and leaps from the wagon. Meanwhile, the slave driving the wagon squeals in terror and throws his hands up over his head in a futile attempt at self-preservation.

The guard lands badly, catching one foot in the rocks along the side of the trail and tumbling helplessly into the gully beside the road as the bandits raid.

The sword of a bandit sinks into wahasha flanks as it clamps down around his neck. The wahasha emits a yelp of pain as it writhes and thrashes.

The second wahasha in the tandem harness is braying and bucking wildly to get away from the bandits, but the harness is too strong. Neither animal can run, but their efforts rock the wagon so hard that it nearly tips.

The rest of the caravan is in chaos as well. The huge animals wrestle in the snarled leather fittings. Pack beasts on the other wagons panic as slaves and guards scatter. Bandits are invading everywhere.

Hart springs into action, dashing clear of the tree line towards the wagons as he unslings his black bow.

Shoots multiple arrows at once. The arrows pierced accurately right into their chests and some of the arrows pierced to the eyes or neck. Instant kills.

Before the other bandits realised what happened, Hart vanishes. He sneaks into the caravan from other side. He starts giving commands on how to attack the enemies. Guards immediately take the formation. He orders two of the guards to throw the petrol barrel on bandits. From the opposite side of Harts position, when he gives the sign. Meanwhile, some other two of the guards are already killed. No time to waste. Other bandits entered and Hart unsheathed his sword and completely outmatched the bandits with high speed and acrobatics, slashing them down with the sword. Other bandits are causing havoc outside. Guards are doing their best to prevent them. Captain Jouque is injured, but kept on commanding and assisting.

Before anymore lives are lost, Hart starts mumbling something. It’s a spell. He is casting a spell. A huge snake is near by. Due to Harts spell command, it appeared with a surprise and started attacking the bandits. Couple of arrows thrusts towards Hart. He dives and dodges the arrows. Bandits are divided into long-range and short range fighters.

"I see." Hart says and brings out a special arrow. Shoots. From the arrow, a huge multi-threaded animated whip comes out like tentacles and automatically slashes towards the long-range bandits bunch. The many tentacle threads of the whip grabs their hands and legs and tangles them in a net. They are temporarily immobilised.

The guards throw the petrol barrel at the bandits. Hart immediately shoots several arrows at once. Each arrow got explosives added in their pointy ends.

Arrows hit the barrel and some of the bandits, causing multiple explosions ending with another huge explosion.

Seeing the disadvantage,

other bandits decide to run away.