‘You ask the wrong question, brother. How did he get here?’

‘He could have swum here.’

‘From where?’

‘A ship must have come into trouble somewhere near Athos.’

Dion was face down in the sand. Small waves broke over his legs; the tide was rising and he knew he had to move. But he was parched, desperate for water, and his head felt like a thousand hammers pounded against his temples. He groaned.

‘He’s stirring. Take that weapon away from him.’

‘No,’ Dion moaned.

He was powerless to prevent strong hands untangling his bow from around his shoulder. Opening his eyes and flinching from the glare, Dion saw an emaciated man in a white robe crouched on the sand, looking down at him. A bald crown topped his triangular head, which was devoid of excess flesh. Dark eyes regarded him from sunken pits.

‘I have your bow,’ he soothed, showing Dion the weapon.

‘And it will be returned to you when you leave,’ said another man nearby.

Eyes shifting, Dion saw that the crouching man had a companion, but he realized with shock that the two men looked alike in every way.

‘Can you rise?’ said a third voice from still further away.

Dion rolled and finally managed to push himself up onto his elbows. The third man was robed just as the other two. His face was the same. There was no way to tell any of them apart.

‘Where . . . Where am I?’ Dion asked hoarsely.

He tried to lick his lips but his tongue was dry. He needed water more than he’d needed anything in his life.

The crouching man closest to Dion spoke. ‘You are at Athos. Not just at Athos, but at Seer’s Cove. We are magi, devoted to the Oracle. How did you come to be here?’

Dion tried to speak but simply shook his head.

‘He needs water,’ said the closest of the standing magi.

‘If we give him water, we are accepting responsibility for his well-being.’

‘Then that is what we will do.’

‘I am not certain this is the right course of action, brother,’ the furthest magus spoke. ‘He is not here of his own accord. He brings no offering.’

‘Wait,’ Dion croaked, sitting up and holding up a hand. ‘I am here by choice; I simply met trouble on the way. Wildren. I want to visit the Oracle.’

‘Where is your offering?’ asked the suspicious magus.

Dion thought about the silver coins he carried, sewn into his tunic. He tried to recall everything he knew about the Oracle. ‘Here,’ he said, lifting up the silver medallion around his neck. ‘This is my offering.’

‘See?’ the two magi regarded their wary companion.

‘Give him water, then.’ The last man folded his arms over his chest. ‘He has chosen to step onto the path. The Oracle will know what to do with him.’