"Douglas Hill - Last Legionary 0 - Young Legionary" - читать интересную книгу автора (Hill Douglas)

certainly not potential food. Almost none of the animals of Moros, and only a few of the plants, could be
eaten by humans. But, for the moment, the water had eased his growing pangs of hunger. He walked on,
lengthening his stride.

3. The Foothills



Beyond the vale stood a lower, secondary range of mountains, like buttresses for the mightier peaks.
Here the slopes were less cruelly steep, and the barrenness of the rock was relieved by occasional
growths of thorny brush or sparse clumps of brownish grass. But this region was no less rugged - for the
ages had carved it into a complex of ridges and escarpments, deep clefts and ravines. And they slowed
Keill's pace as effectively as the higher slopes.

Also, the after-effects of injury were catching up with him, along with a growing weariness. But he kept
on, hour upon hour, until deepening twilight told him that he could at last halt. Then he simply found a
brambly cluster of vegetation, in a small protected hollow, where he curled up and was asleep almost
before his head touched the hard ground.

He awoke at first light, chilled and aching, feeling as if his joints and muscles had set solid, like plasticrete.
But he heaved himself to his feet and drove his body into a walk. Soon the stiffness eased, and after
another brief session of exercises he was moving as easily as ever. It was just as well - for he knew that
he had not yet covered half the required distance, though he had used up half the time. Somehow during
this second day he would have to find the energy to quicken his pace.

But as the morning progressed, it became more and more difficult to ignore the dryness of his mouth and
his clamorously empty belly, not to mention the continuing pain of his injuries. Even worse, the fight with
the wyvern, the fall and all the tensions and exertions of the previous day had drained his energies more
than he had expected. So it became harder to keep up the proper pace - all the more so as the air among
these lower slopes was still and heavy, and the sun beat down on the glittering stone.

By midday he felt as if flames were smouldering in his body - in his left arm, in the patches of skin
scraped raw by his fall and made rawer by the salt of his sweat. His tongue seemed swollen in his
dust-dry mouth, his eyes burned in the glare of sun on rock. Yet he toiled on, fighting his inner battle
against the miseries that threatened to swamp his determination.

And at last, the mountains seemed to take pity on him. When he struggled to the crest of yet another
ridge, the vista before him brought him to a surprised halt. Not another barrier of difficult ravines and
gullies, but a broad, smooth basin, several kilometres across. It sloped gently down from the ridge where
he stood, and was thickly covered with brown-green grass, dotted with shrubbery and strands of small,
gnarled trees.

The map in his mind told him that this mountain meadow provided his avenue into the gentler foothills. It
also told him that he should have reached this spot some hours earlier. But that could not be helped - and
he forced away the edge of desperation that rose in him. More immediately important was the sight of a
herd of whitebuck, creamy fur gleaming in the sun, grazing in the distance. Where they stood, the
shrubbery and trees grew with special abundance. And that almost certainly meant water.

As he moved across the grassy plain, a light breeze brushed over his skin like a soothing ointment. His
pace quickened a little, and the whitebuck scattered as he drew near. They were no danger: they stood