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

long, heavy beak, dagger-pointed, that was aimed for the centre of Keill's back.

But the slapping rush of the wings had given his reflexes warning enough. Instantly he had twisted away to
one side, dangling from the ledge only by the finger-grip of one hand. The wyvern's beak speared through
empty air, grated briefly on the rock - and then the creature was flapping up in a tight curve that would
bring it hurtling back to try again.

Keill regained a two-handed grip on the ledge, and pulled himself up on to it in one flowing motion. As he
gained his feet the wyvern was upon him. He flung himself back, towards the cave mouth, and again his
speed saved him from the deadly beak. But this time, as the monster flashed past, it struck down with its
glinting talons. And four bright red furrows appeared along the length of Keill's left arm.

Screaming, the wyvern wheeled for another attack. But Keill had plunged into the safety of the cave. He
now guessed that the cave might once have been a nesting place for wyverns, which would explain the
store of dry twigs. And perhaps this one used the ledge as a port of call during a day's hunting. Except
this time, it had found something to eat on its doorstep.

The wyvern would not pursue him into the cave, where its wings would be useless. But he had no time to
wait in the hope that it would eventually go away. He knew that he might have to go out and fight,
bare-handed against those fearsome claws and beak.

A wet warmth on his left hand made him glance down. The wounds on his arm were little more than
skin-deep, and could be ignored for now. But the blood was running stickily down to his hand, and he
did not want his grip impaired. He began to wipe his palm on his loin cloth - and the shadow of an idea
sprang into his mind.

The absurd risk of it made him shiver, but he did not hesitate. He unwrapped the loincloth and shook it
out - a strip of ordinary cloth, long enough to wrap three times round his hips, more than half a metre
wide. Some weapon, he thought.

He steadied his breathing, gathering his energies and power as he had been trained to do almost from the
day he could walk. Then he stepped out to face the wyvern.

The monster screeched, a sound like triumph, and dived. In the last seconds before it reached him, Keill
swung the cloth up and held it in front of himself. The terrible beak stabbed into the centre of the cloth.
But Keill had swayed aside, so that the spearing point missed him by centimetres. And as he did so he
flung the cloth forward, its folds enveloping the head and body of the wyvern.

Blinded, the shrieking monster blundered into the rocky slope. The huge wings flailed, the talons ripped at
the entangling cloth. In an instant it would have been free, rising again in fury. But Keill needed only that
instant.

His right hand became a blur, its rigid edge slicing with measured accuracy into the chaotic flurry of
wings, claws and tattered cloth. It struck perfectly, just at the base of the narrow, scaly head. The snap
of breaking bone was barely audible over the raging creature's screams - except that the screams were
instantly cut off. And the wyvern tumbled lifeless, head lolling, on to the ledge.

Keill slumped back against the rock, realizing that his stomach was knotted with tension, and that he was
panting as if he had been running. Slowly he forced himself back to the relaxed calm that his training
demanded, then freed what was left of his loincloth from the wyvern. Nearly half the cloth's length hung in