The battle was far from over, though. The Beltharans and Skorvosians combined were still outnumbered almost two to one and the Shadowarmy still had the advantage in magical power, an advantage that they exploited ruthlessly, killing and maiming vast numbers of the new arrivals now that they were out of the protection of the city. The most disorganised and chaotic of the Shadowsoldiers had fled, but what remained was the hard core of the most disciplined soldiers, mainly humans and shologs, and although they were tired after a long night’s fighting they were still skilled, dedicated fighters who would take a lot of beating.

     Also, some of the zombies were beginning to arrive as their controllers finally took matters into their own hands and led them towards the battle. Zombies were of limited use in a melee, though, as they simply attacked any living soldier they came across, no matter what side they were on. Their controllers had to direct them individually to each enemy soldier. Drake looked hopefully for Resalintas, expecting him to be among the new arrivals from the city, but he failed to find him and feared that something had happened to his old mentor. He put it out of his mind with an effort and went back to the fighting.

     The battle went on and on, and the trampled ground became spongy with blood. A glow on the eastern horizon told them that dawn was not far off, and the slavers, weary from continuous mind blasts and the more mundane physical efforts of the battle, wrapped themselves up in their heavy black cloaks and left. The last of the spiritual undead was destroyed and all the enemy wizards had long since run out of magic. Those capable of teleportation had returned to a prearranged fall back position while the others were trying to creep unseen to the edge of the battlefield. The only fighting still going on was of the mundane variety. Sword against sword and spear against shield.

     Finally, the battle began to wind down and Drake found himself with no living enemies in his immediate vicinity. He saw Fletcher sitting on one of the broken treetrunks that had been part of the encampment’s outer palisade and went to sit down beside him. It was either that or just collapse face down in the mud.

     “How do they do it?” asked Fletcher, indicating the Shadowsoldiers who were still battling on although they must have been almost unconscious on their feet.

     Drake had no breath to reply at first, and it was nearly a full minute before he could speak. “The power of, of the Shadowlord,” he gasped. “He won’t, won’t let them stop so long as they live. They’ll die fighting.” He took another minute to get his breath back and then stood up. “Come on,” he said. “No rest ‘till the battle’s over.”

     Fletcher sighed and stood as well, and the two men walked wearily back into the carnage.

     The sky slowly turned a rosy pink and Drake knew that, on the other side of the hills, the yellow sun was already above the horizon. “The sun is risen!” he shouted out loud to everyone around him. “The time of darkness is past! All shadows are banished! Rise up now and wipe out this taint of evil that stains our land!”

     The men around him were stirred to new effort, and they pushed the Shadowsoldiers back towards the eastern hills, where they were met by the Skorvosians who’d reformed behind them.

     Now it was the Shadowsoldiers who were surrounded, and the last fragile remnants of their organisation and discipline collapsed as panic set in. An army that had devastated an entire nation had been reduced to a milling, chaotic crowd of assorted humanoids who were now fighting only to survive and escape. Drake guessed that whoever was in charge of the Beltharan army would be half inclined to just let them go to spare the lives of any more of his men, but the Skorvosians were having none of it. War, to them, was an act of worship, and they were going to sacrifice each and every one of the Shadowsoldiers to the greater glory of the bloody God of Conquest. Tempted though the Ilandian commander would be to pull his men out and let the two evil armies destroy each other, therefore, Drake guessed that it would be politically impossible for him to do so. He couldn’t tell the Emperor that Ilandia had been saved by worshippers of Skorvos.

     The morning got brighter, and the sky turned a clear, cloudless blue except where dark pillars of smoke continued to rise from the burning city. Long shadows sprang into existence as the yellow sun peeped above the tops of the eastern hills, and at exactly the same time something else happened. Drake felt a wonderful, warm feeling of holiness enveloping him, soothing away his aches and pains and filling his body with new strength. He sensed that Samnos Himself was very close, almost looking over his shoulder in fact. Holy power spread across the battlefield, bringing hope and confidence to the Beltharans and despair to the Shadowsoldiers.

     The priests of Skorvos sensed it as well, but it affected them the same way that Fangrap’s earthquake spell had affected Drake and the huge priest clutched painfully at his unholy symbol, the lump of cold iron in the shape of a clenched fist, while he muttered spells of protection to ward off the hateful holiness. Drake knew immediately what it was, because he’d sensed it once before, and he fell to his knees crying out words of praise and devotion to his God. Somewhere in the world, the second charge of the Sceptre of Samnos was being used.

     That effectively marked the end of the battle. From then on it was nothing but bloody slaughter. The remaining Shadowsoldiers threw down their weapons and begged for mercy and the Skorvosians massacred them, crying out the name of their God with every head that fell. There was nothing the Beltharans could do to stop the atrocity, and for a moment it looked as though they were about to turn their swords on the Skorvosians, but Drake sought out the Ilandian Commander and pleaded with him to pull his men back. After a moment’s thought the Commander agreed and gave the order, and the Beltharans spent the next half hour trying to control their outrage as they helplessly observed one of the most disgraceful acts of butchery the worshippers of evil had ever committed.

     “Who in the name of hell are you anyway?” demanded the General, turning away from the sickening sight.

     “Corporal Robert Drake, Sir. Priest of Samnos previously serving in Fort Battleaxe.”

     “Ah yes, Resalintas spoke of you,” said the General. “I expect you have a good explanation for your presence amongst those monsters?”

     Drake explained it all to him as the last of the Shadowsoldiers were murdered and the General’s expression turned to astonishment as the situation became clear to him. “They always fight on the weaker side?” he said wonderingly. “So if we start winning this war they’ll change sides and fight against us?”

     “Yes sir,” replied Drake. “We cannot trust them. They won’t attack us now, they’re exhausted and even their bloodlust has been temporarily sated, but one day they will turn against us. It’s in their nature.”

     “But for the time being they’re our allies,” replied the General, “and we desperately need allies. The Shads have nearly a million men in reserve in the Shadow, and as soon as news of this reaches them they’ll send another army against us. We’re much weaker now than we were. If they send another hundred thousand against us they’ll go through us like hot iron through butter.” He sighed heavily. “Can’t afford to worry about that now, though. We’ve got a hundred thousand zombies to deal with first and then we’ve got to re-occupy the border cities, try to set up some kind of frontier defence again.”

     He fell silent when he saw that the priests of Skorvos had left the grisly slaughter and were coming towards them. They were stooped with weariness, even Fangrap himself, and Drake knew that they’d never have a better opportunity to rid themselves of this monstrous prince of evil. They had fifteen thousand Beltharan soldiers behind them, most of them still fairly fresh and able to fight. They had four wizards, all of whom still had some magic left, and they had three priests of Samnos, including himself. If they attacked now they could kill Fangrap easily and rid Ilandia of one of its greatest evils.

     His hand tightened on the hilt of his sword, but then he reluctantly let it go. The General was right, he knew. They needed the Skorvosians as allies for when the Shadowsoldiers came again, even though they knew they were certain to betray them one day. Fangrap looked at him, and his cruelly handsome face twisted with a smile as if he knew exactly what he was thinking, which he probably did.

     Being the most junior priest present, Drake hung back and was replaced in the Beltharan delegation by Captain Vasta, a priest he remembered from Fort Battleaxe. Vasta, the General and the wizard Lamaniss stepped forward to meet the priests of Skorvos and Drake watched curiously, wondering what they were saying to each other. Things seemed to be fairly amicable between them, although Vasta’s shoulders were tensed with hatred and loathing, and at one point Shragnaz gave Drake a wink and grinned, baring his long fangs.

     After about five minutes the Beltharan delegation returned and Drake went over to join them, eager to hear what had been decided. “The army of Skorvos will make camp in Starch Green," said the General, "which they will re-fortify and hold when the Shads return. One of our wizards, to be chosen later, will go with them to give them some magical support. You, Drake, will also go with them, to act as liaison officer, as they seem to have accepted you as a worthy ally.”

     Drake tensed but said nothing, merely nodding. He should have expected this.

     “Fangrap will come to Tatria with us, to discuss tactics with Skulnya.”

     There were gasps of outrage at this, but the General hushed them up impatiently. “I know, it’ll be hard to accept, but we’re in no position to choose our allies. We need them and they know it. Any questions?”

     There was some uncomfortable shuffling of feet and the sharing of disbelieving glances, but no-one spoke up.

     “All right," said the General. "Let’s go home.”