When he opened his eyes again, the giant had stopped, surrounded by a cloud of flying sand that thickened by the moment. It swirled around the huge man in waves, a dust devil that rose out of nowhere to engulf the Penitent in a whirlwind of blown grit. The giant lashed out, trying to push through the cloud, but his punches met nothing solid. Whenever he tried to take a step, the sand thickened, shoving against him and driving him back.

“I can’t hold him for long.” The voice spoke in Khandarai, and Marcus thought it was just on the edge of familiarity, like someone he’d known in another life. He turned away from the giant, and froze.

“You’re dead,” he managed. “You’re not even real.”

The man standing behind him, in the midst of another swirl of spinning sand, wore the traditional loose brown garments of the Desoltai tribes, with dark gloves on his hands and his hair hidden under a black cloth. His face was concealed behind a mask, a simple metal oval with square slits for eyes and mouth but otherwise featureless.

“Malik-dan-Belial,” Feor said, with something like awe. The Steel Ghost.

Marcus knew him. Or knew the mask, which in the end was all there was to know. The Steel Ghost had been a trick, an illusion, a bogeyman the desert tribes had created out of a mask and a costume to frighten invaders. In the end, his legendary sorcery had been nothing more than a clever means for flashing messages from one place to another, the “language of light” that Janus had used as the basis for the flik-flik system.

But the sand that rolled around him now was no illusion, nor was the force of the wind holding the massive Penitent in place.

“I have done my best to keep the shadow priest in check,” the Steel Ghost said. “But there are too many abh-naathem in the city now. You must stop them, d’Ivoire.” The blank mask turned to Raesinia. “Keep the queen safe. Retrieve the Thousand Names. I will help where I can, but my power—” The giant threw himself against the whirlwind, and the Steel Ghost flinched. “My power has limits.”

“Who are you?” Marcus said. “You’re not—I don’t—”

“We share an enemy, but we are not allies. The abh-naathem’s ambition has no limit, and they must be stopped before they undo the work of a thousand years and bring ruin to us all. That is all you need to know.”

“Marcus?” Raesinia said. “What is he saying? Marcus!”

“Go now,” the Ghost grated. “I will keep this one here as long as I can.”

“He says we should run,” Marcus said in Vordanai. He took hold of Feor and Raesinia and dragged them after him a few steps, until they got the message. Justin, eyes wide, held Feor’s other hand.

“But—” Raesinia began.

“Later!”