“What are those?” I ask, but I think I already know because I’ve seen rope like that—at the bottom of a river, wrapped around Annika.
“That is raw merth.” Jarek curses. “Where the fuck did they get it? And so much of it?”
It clicks. “From the Ybarisans.” Of course. Ybaris is the only place it grows.
And every last one of these deadly legionaries will buckle under its crippling effects.
“Get back behind the line,” Jarek growls, sliding out a second blade from the sheath at his hip.
“Come with me!” I beg. “You can’t fight them all off if they have merth!”
“Not with you here, I can’t. Go!” he roars, stalking forward into the night, his blades at the ready.
“Romeria!” Zander bellows.
A second later, panicked shouts rise from the other side of camp.