The Beginning
a novel
by Vasily Mahanenko
The Dark Paladin
Book#1
Magic Dome Books
The Beginning
The Dark Paladin, Book # 1
Copyright © V. Mahanenko 2017
Cover Art © V. Manyukhin 2017
English translation copyright © Alexandra Tussing 2017
Published by Magic Dome Books, 2017
All Rights Reserved
This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Amazon.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
This book is entirely a work of fiction. Any correlation with real people or events is coincidental.
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Table of Contents:
Chapter One. Birth of the Paladin
Chapter Two. Departure for the Academy
Chapter Three. Initial Knowledge
Chapter Four. Genocide
Chapter Five. Studying
Chapter Six. Testing the Knowledge
Chapter Seven. Partner
Chapter Eight. Caves of Tests
Chapter Nine. Tests of the Labyrinth
Chapter Ten. Allies
Chapter Eleven. Wastelands
Chapter Twelve. Chancellor
Chapter Thirteen. Finale
Thank you for reading The Dark Paladin!
Chapter One. Birth of the Paladin
THE ARMY OF ORCS led by Yargul headed to the tall forests of Idilrance. The wood elves were planning to bring a great mage of the past back to life‒ the one who had destroyed half of the world, so the orcs decided to interfere and show the whole world once again who were the true rulers of Zalta. Along enormous chords the army of orcs was moving towards the woods without even noticing…
“QUIT PICKING YOUR NOSE, you grunt! Three laps around the drill field once we get back to the base!” The sergeant’s booming voice jerked me out of my dreamland. The orcs evaporated from my imagination like a ball of ice cream on a server under peak load – fast and frying the motherboard in the process. Clinging to the side of the APC I stared at the mountains gloomily: four hours in a dusty metal box never made anyone happy. Particularly on a narrow road. When I started imagining horrendous monsters under every shrub it became clear: my brain needed a reboot. The orcs came to my rescue, saving me from the monotony of the ride, but the sergeant destroyed them ruthlessly, totally blowing all the fun. I wouldn’t be able to run three laps after a ride like this. Not even if I walked. I wasn't sure about crawling, but I wouldn't want to have to find out.
Scheduled patrol of the area around the base on three APCs was our commander’s weekly fun. Sometimes he made arrangements with a platoon of contract troopers from the neighboring base to ambush us “to keep the grunts on their toes.” On those days a dozen or so powerful fighters would attack us and knock us out – purely for instructional purposes. So that we would not lose our edge! Those of us who managed to roll off from the vehicle onto the ground and start shooting blanks at the appearing “enemy” the troopers did not bother: these soldiers were considered to have lived up to expectations. We were shooting blanks; only the commander had live ammo. Of course, the middle APC also had the battle large caliber NSV machine gun, but no one was allowed to even come close to it. There was just that one time, in the mountains, when the commander let us take a couple of shots from that wonder of military technology. It would be impossible to convey the feeling of great power completely controlled by you! At that awesome moment I felt like I could level the mountains, only provided the machine gun had enough ammo! Sadly, this only happened once in the whole year of service and by now it felt like a dream. Sweet and pleasant, but still a dream. The rest of the time we either waited for the troopers to attack or trundled along narrow roads. Bloody romantic!
“You crowbag, is your bag hanging down?” The hoarse rough voice of lance-corporal Fagov came from the other side of the APC, and the privates on his side guffawed in unison. Some stand-up comics, my ass! Fagov was the worst wacko old-timer in the platoon and taking it out on the newbies for his sordid childhood. He managed to take the top spot even among his peers. When a huge thug, almost two meters tall, whose face brightens with intelligence only when he is straining to take a crap, is hanging over you it’s hard not to acknowledge him as a leader. There was an unspoken rule among the privates: never argue with Fagov. He would yell some, wave his arms in the air, hit you a couple of times, but it would only take a minute for his attention to switch to something else. His attention span was something remarkable – like a baby’s.
Lieutenant Sintsov, our platoon commander, included all three of his squad sections in today’s patrol. Twenty-seven knuckleheads and three sergeants. You didn't need a crystal ball to understand: today was when he planned the massacre of the innocents. Sintsov must have arranged it with the contract guys again! Formally we were listed as paratroopers, but it was beyond me to see a hidden p
aratrooper among the brush and stones – a real professional and not a cheap imitation like us. I didn't even try. Instead I quietly sat at the side of the APC, didn't bother anyone, clutched my useless assault rifle dreaming of elf girls, hot shower, soft bed and treating my surroundings as if they were just a figment of my sick imagination.
“Did you go deaf, you?” Amazingly, Fagov had not forgotten about me. “Think you're immortal?”
“Check that!” shouted Sintsov from the second APC. “Smarty-pants, if you keep picking on the young ones, I’ll send you to the right place right away. They'll make the first part of your name very true very quickly! Shut up and look sharp! Homemade Rambo…”
In reality all of the above was conveyed in highly specialized military curse language that most of the army speaks. Most of what I understood were prepositions, and I guessed the overall meaning based on the emotional content. Before I joined the army I practically never had to curse so actively, so any communication with the lieutenant turned into an educational session. He managed to shoot out such strings of obscenities that my eyebrows crawled up and a smile appeared on my face: Sintsov combined incompatible things, but it all worked out so smoothly that I was just left in wonder at the capabilities of the Russian language. I was sure that no other language could possibly deliver, with such flourish and effectiveness, a single thought into the soldiers’ minds.
“Return to base!”
The command that sounded about five minutes later triggered a unanimous sigh of relief: no massacre today. The troopers never attacked on the way back‒ considering that extremely rude. The troops were returning to base, so it wouldn't be right to interfere with them. Looking forward to resting soon, the soldiers relaxed and were smiling feeling like they were nearly home…
But suddenly …
I never understood why the leading APS was thrown into the air. There was no explosion, no noise or dust – but suddenly the huge metal vehicle buckled like a nervous horse and rolled over. I clung harder to the side of my vehicle, stunned, staring at the blood that appeared from under the machine. Several soldiers were crushed! To death! What kind of blasted training could that be when people were being killed?! Some force pulled on my boot making me fall on the ground. The sergeant. Cursing like mad he was grabbing the grunts, pulling them down from the vehicle, kicking them to force them to lie low to the ground. Hanging on to the useless assault rifle I was nervously seeking the enemy who must have lost it. After the drill someone will get it real bad!
“Issue live ammo!” came a shout from Sintsov, making me hug the ground harder. What did he mean, live ammo? There was a set of live ammo in each APC; it could be accessed only by the senior sergeant, but to issue live ammo on patrol? Had Sintsov taken a hard hit on the head?
“Catch!” as soon as the magazine with red tape wound around it fell in front of me I heard the lieutenant’s wild scream:
“Get down!”
I didn’t stare at the magazine, I pulled it under my body, raised my head and saw one of the soldiers running to the nearest line of trees. He almost made it. When the trees were just within reach, the private suddenly stopped, standing straight still and then, like an activated cracker, burst into hundreds of small bloody pieces.
“It blew Vas up!” Fagov screamed in a panicked voice, “— А-а-а! Take it, bastards! You're all dead!”
To say that I was shocked would be a gross understatement. The sight of the exploding body just turned my brain off. I turned into a motionless mannequin, dumbly staring at the bloody boots: all that was left of the soldier. Chaos broke around me: shots, screams, orders to cease fire, but none of that existed for me. Just the boots stained with blood. Then, suddenly, silence fell. It was so terrifying, so physical, that I let go of the assault rifle and pushed my face into the ground, as if trying to dig deep into it. It seemed that the silence would cause my eardrums to rupture at any moment! The silence!
The overturned APC with several crushed bodies under it suddenly exploded into shards turning into a huge shrapnel bomb. If I had not pushed my head into the ground fighting the overpowering silence, a huge chunk of the armor would have become my personal guillotine. The silence dissipated, replaced by pleas for help, screams of pain and the monotonous hum of a working transformer. I lay on the ground completely unsure what to do – we were never taught anything like that in boot camp. I didn't see the enemy; all the fire came from our side. From fear my muscles were so cramped that every move was painful. All I was able to do was to clutch my useless assault rifle. As if it were a life ring. Live ammo was near me but it did not even occur to me to switch magazines. I dully noticed that my shoulder was ripped practically to the bone; there was a lot of blood but I felt no pain at all. As if someone had switched it off.
“Retreat!” I heard from somewhere ahead. “Cover us!”
Who was I supposed to cover, and from what? What was I supposed to do generally?! One of the sergeants jumped up on the second APC, turned the machine gun in the direction in which the column had been moving and took a few shots, looking like he knew what he was doing. After this all hell broke loose.
Here is a sergeant, standing and shooting at something. Bang, and there is no sergeant. Only the rain of bloody scraps tells you that a moment ago there was a person here.
Here are three surviving privates from the first APC jumping to their feet and running towards us. Bang, and they are gone. Just the bloody rain again, without a single shot. What are they shooting at us?!
“Private! Follow me! On the double!” I heard the squad sergeant’s order next to my ear.
I lifted my head dully and looked at our sergeant without seeing him.
“Get up, damn you! Swap the magazine and follow me! Quick!
I was not sure what affected me: the clear command, the sergeant’s awful appearance, the sight of exploding soldiers, or Fagov frozen between the APCs, staring with terrified huge eyes at the soldiers exploding next to him and not even attempting to drop to the ground. Maybe he thought he was a hero. Who knows? I sprang to my feet, switched the magazine to live ammo and, without thinking that I too could turn into bloody rain, started for the APCs. The only way to provide cover was the machine gun; the assault rifle would not help much. The most important thing was to make it there.
Several steps away from the vehicle I tripped, ploughing the stony road with my face. My arms immediately came into motion, lifted the assault rifle and aimed it at a man slowly walking down the road. His arms were covered with unnatural fire. Actually, they weren’t his arms – the man’s fists were covered in blue and gold flames as if two magical fireballs had flown into our world by mistake and stuck to the stranger’s hands. The dark cloak streaming behind him and the hood covering his face made him look like a character from some computer game. A Warrior Mage.
The man took another step, raised his hand and just a few steps away from me another bloody cloud formed; the sergeant’s remains showered the ground.
“А-А-А!” I screamed, pushing the trigger. For the first time in my life I was shooting at a living person, but at that moment the thought did not bother me in the least. If this prick was to blame for everyone around him exploding and dying, he must be stopped.
I sent bullet after bullet at the man coming towards me, but something weird was happening. At the shooting range, on average I hit 40 points out of 50 but now all my shots went nowhere. It’s not like I missed him‒ they just dissipated! Small fiery flashes appearing right in front of the walking man indicated that my aim was good, but the shots produced no result at all. I’ll be damned! This freak had some kind of mean protection device! A normal assault rifle wouldn’t do it, I would need a more powerful weapon!
The NSV!
Two dark cords of fog swiftly snaked from the enemy’s hands. They bent around the APC that I was using for cover and rushed onward. A scream of horror joined the cries of pain. I turned my head and saw the APC of my squad floating about two meters off the ground. It started
growing smaller. Like a balloon that had lost all its air. “Back to the taxpayers!” A thought flashed through my mind, and then blood started pouring from the shapeless heap of metal. Someone had stayed in the vehicle to the last.
“All the way!” Sintsov rushed with a wild roar from somewhere behind the bushes. Shooting at the oncoming enemy using one hand, as the bullets produced the fiery flashes which I recognized, the lieutenant was carrying several grenades in his other hand as he ran towards the enemy. He’s right! If it’s impossible to destroy the defense from outside you could try to blow it up from the inside!
Having seen Sintsov I threw away the spent assault rifle and jumped onto the APC. Fear left me when the lieutenant appeared: now I knew with certainty who I was supposed to “cover” and from what. I am a soldier who must fulfill his duty until the end! The whole side of the vehicle was covered in blood but it didn't bother me anymore; there would be time to throw up later. If there was a “later”. I had never thought that in a critical situation like this I would be able to act calmly and rationally. Having reached the machine gun I aimed it at the enemy and nearly lost all my determination: the lieutenant was being torn in half! With just two hands! Along his body, completely ignoring the armor vest! Sintsov’s torn-off arms were lying on the ground a few meters away: he never made it with the grenades.
“All the way!” I whispered, tightening my fingers on the trigger. The enemy turned and I was overpowered by hellish pain. I felt as if I was skinned alive, doused with salt and thrown on hot embers while acid poured over me. Pain dimmed my mind, something warm trickled down my legs, I could not move a single muscle. I was unable even to draw in some air for a scream. At the edge of my consciousness I felt the NSV start shooting. If I were to die, I would die fighting.
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