Paradise Tales Read Online Free PDF

his master go into the royal chamber.
    The King is hunched over a tiny spinning steamball. “Remarkable this, don’t you think?” he says, and only then turns around to look at the swordsmen. “But what use is it, I wonder?”
    He is a beautiful man, tall, willowy, and graceful, with long thin fingers that look as though they could pluck heartfelt melodies out of the air. His eyes are full of sympathy for their plight. “Have you come to kill me? You will be reborn as toads.”
    “We’ve come,” says Kai, “to take you home.”
    The King flutes some kind of mellifluous reply. It is muffled in Kai’s ears. He cannot quite hear what the King says, rather as though his majesty was talking with his mouth full.
    Then Kai remembers that he is immune to magic. This includes the magic of charm, of sweetness, of sympathy—the magic of kindly deception.
    Whuh, whuh, whuh, the King seems to say. It is not entirely meaningful to say that Kai squints with his ears, but that is more or less what he does. He can just make out the King saying, “You surely don’t want to hurt your King. It’s a very humble thing to be a King. Your body mirrors the health of the nation. Hurt me and you hurt yourself.”
    The young men are drawn. “No of course not, Father. Not hurt you. Help you. Get you away from these Neighbors.”
    “Ah, but these Neighbors are our friends… .” Kai lets the words unfocus back into blah, blah, blah.
    Everyone is entranced. Kai keeps his eyes on them all as he steps carefully backward. There is a cabinet with crystal doors full of items under purple silk. Kai looks, then strikes. His sword cuts through the bolts.
    “Oh dear,” says the King. “I’ve been meaning to change those locks.”
    Kai gathers up the things. The King’s voice is entirely unintelligible to him now. It drones like a call to prayers.
    His own men turn around and face him, swords drawn.
    Kai has a voice as well. “Nobody will hurt you, Father. Isn’t that so, boys? We don’t want to hurt the King. But he will have to follow these.”
    The King’s eyes go wide and tearful.
    Kai hugs to himself the Sacred Sword, the palm-leaf Royal Chronicles, the cymbals, the earrings, and the cup.
    “All of this paraphernalia means you are king. Without it you can’t give titles and buy the support of nobles. Without it you can’t work your magic. Where these go, you have to follow. Or you are not king.”
    The King falters, looks sad and lonely, an old man, too frail for travel. What Kai has said is true.
    Kai strides out of the room with all the symbols of his power, and the King trots after him. Kai can make out his tones of sad complaint. Kai’s own men stand their ground. Their swords are still drawn.
    “Earplugs,” sighs Kai. He snatches up four candles, tosses them into the air, and slices them into eight with his sword. He catches them between his toes, and they light themselves from his heat.
    Then Kai spins himself into the air, hugging the royal paraphernalia to his chest. Before even his trained acolytes can ward him off, Kai has filled their ears with melted wax.
    “Now you can sing as sweetly as you like, King.” He smiles.
    His acolytes shake their heads, blink in confusion and then shrug.
    Kai says, “King, if you call for help, I’ll spit down your throat. Your vocal cords will be scalded and you’ll never speak again.”
    Then he and his men jog through rooms soaked in blood and out into the courtyard. All of them run up the walls of the Palace, including Arun, although he carries a king.

    Heroism is revealed not by victory but by defeat

    The Neighbors fall for it.
    They need the docile Kambu King. He is oversubtle where he should be bold, precise where he should be roughshod but quick.
    The horrors of the Palace have shown them that they face a formidable adversary. They abide.
    Finally, they hear where the King’s new forced capital can be found.
    Cardamom.
    And so, drawn, they march their magic army into the