Master Sy stopped near the temple gates where a man was selling sweet pancakes laced with honeyberries, yellow and round like the midday sun. Suncakes. The thief-taker bought a couple for each of them, took a mouthful and gave a satisfied belch. ‘Don’t suppose you ever get out from your lessons during the day, but these are the best suncakes in the city. Expensive, but the best.’ Berren, who skipped prayers to eat one whenever he could afford it, said nothing. He licked the crumbs off his lips and followed Master Sy through the gates. The priests and the novices were still at their devotions but the monks were outside. They’d drawn a circle in the sand and had started to practice, stretching their arms and their legs between frenzied bouts of sparring with sticks. Berren walked up to the line in the sand and plonked himself down to watch, munching away on his second suncake. He’d never seen anyone doing the things these sword-monks could do, and this was just practice! He’d never met anyone who could bend their legs so far for a start, and when they went on to handsprings and backflips, his jaw dropped.
