Vardala stepped warily into the back room of the inn, closing the door carefully behind her, as she had been instructed. The room was dark, heavy shutters closed across the only window. Outside, the sun would already be dipping towards the horizon, but the intent was not just to keep light out but to stop passers-by from looking in.
The rogue made out a shape standing next to the unlit fireplace, and could sense its eyes on her. She said nothing, waiting for the figure to make the first move. After a long silence, it did so, reaching forward across a low table to pull back a shutter from some metal object placed there.
A whitish-blue light spilled across the table, shining into her face. She had seen such things before; a metal box with a narrow shutter at one side, and a rod inside enchanted with a long-lasting light spell. It was safer than a regular lantern, and almost never needed refuelling. Because of its shape, the light poured out in only one direction, and the figure standing behind it was more in the shadow than ever, now that her eyes could not adjust to the darkness.
“The prodigal returns,” said the figure, his voice calm, with a rich timbre.
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