Dread filled him. “The Dryad tree…in the Paracelsus Towers. The Dryad is her mother.”
The Kishion stiffened. “You left her unprotected then,” he said venomously. His voice began to shift and change. He recognized the voice now. It was the Arch-Rike’s voice. He could imagine him, sitting in his palace in Kenatos, using an orb to speak. “You sent Aransetis to fetch her. You sent the Bhikhu after Cruw Reon and the pup you pretended was your nephew to find Basilides. Know this, Tyrus Paracelsus. They will all die for aiding you. I know the Uddhava far better. I may not kill your daughter. I may bring her to Kenatos, as I brought your sister all those years ago. Kishion—go to Stonehollow and bring her to me. With his scent, you will find hers.”
The Kishion pressed his nose against Tyrus’s scalp. He struggled to unwind his arm, but there was no leverage and the pain only intensified. He felt the Kishion sniff his hair once.
“Kill him.”
A knife plunged into Tyrus’s back. It was a mortal wound. He knew it instantly. He had examined corpses that had been stabbed that way. The Kishion dropped him face-first into the scrub. His heart shuddered. Pain filled him, pinpricks all over his body. The sound of the waterfall was the last thing he remembered.