The noose was tightening around the city of Karpella. It had been many weeks since the Aramorians had begun their siege. Their lightning advance up northwards from the Uplands of Ara into the Kingdom of Dazscor had been barely checked by the few Dazscorian troops who had decided to stand in their way; it had only been the stout walls of the capital city that had stopped the relentless force. Everyone knew, however, that in reality, the Aramorians had not been stopped by the grandiose defences of Karpella; they had merely been stalled. Every day more and more of King Sarper’s under-trained and barely paid troops had deserted, some slipping over the wall and taking their chances surrendering to the Aramorians, some trying to make the swim across the River Arlen; and some lying low in the dar
