Emperor of the Borderlands: Book 8
“The strongest walls mean nothing if the will behind them breaks.”
The Surge has come. Thousands of Soulless surround Ugryum—and for the first time, they march not as a mindless tide, but as an army. Ranks. Tactics. Patience. Something ancient commands them, and it wages war not only with claw and fang, but with whispers that creep into sleeping minds—turning neighbor against neighbor, breeding thieves, false prophets and traitors inside my walls.
The princes have made their choice: no Streltsy will come. They watch from behind their high walls, waiting for the darkness to erase what their intrigues could not.
So be it. I have soldiers raised from peasants, mages raised from refugees, allies bound by loyalty instead of fear, and knowledge no one in this world remembers—including the unfinished work of a man I once called brother.
The enemy has numbers, patience and utter lack of self-preservation. I have something it cannot comprehend: people worth dying for—and a war I have already fought once.