The Reprieve of Yule

Night fell over the Bree-land in a blanket of frost. Streaks of dark cloud smothered star and moon like ribbons of black. But at the foot of Bree-hill many lights, orange and warm, were winking from the windows of the village houses; and in the night air there was the faint echo of merriment and cheer, and singing and dancing, as the Men of Bree celebrated Yuletide.
But beyond the fenced dike, and into the gloom of the fields, there was gathered in silence a host of dark figures. In a black rank they stood, listening to the mirth of far away Bree, until one of them spat.
Then suddenly from a distance the South-gate opened, and out onto the lane stepped a man with a lantern. The lone figure looked this way and that before traipsing off the road in their direction. Like a will-o-the-wisp he came, swallowed whole by the dark in all but his swaying lamp. At last the man stopped short in the field, and raised his lantern to peer into the night.
'Are you there?' he called out hoarsely. It was the voice of Bill Ferny.
The silent host said nothing, and though Bill could not rightly see them but for their cold-gleaming eyes, he knew they were there. 'It's done,' he went on, sensing they would offer no courtesies; and so he produced from his cloak a sealed note. 'The mark has been chosen. Pretty little thing, wed and wealthy. This tells you when and where she will be. Do you still intend to do it after Yule?' But the silent rank gave no answer. Bill continued after a wary pause: 'I want full payment as promised,' he said. 'For my part, and for Harry's too. I'm already under the eye of the Watchers, and Barliman's men, for the night-raid of his Inn. Those Black Riders have nearly ruined his business. But if it's true what I hear, and I hear much, then you lot are looking to muscle in on Bree. I was useful to the Riders. I can be useful to you. Though I want a share in the spoils, you hear?'
Bill Ferny's demands were met however with the same wall of silence. But then one of the shadowed figures broke rank, and stepped forth to snatch the note from him. In the lamp-light a sallow goblin-face loomed for a staring moment, and its voice spoke once. 
'If this proves useful, Drugûn will ask for you. If it does not, Drugûn will bury you.' 
Without so much as a parting word the host turned about and retreated into the night, their cold eyes extinguishing into nothing. Then they were gone.
In the field Bill Ferny stood alone, staring after with a queer look in his eye, even as a rowdy chorus of merriment rose up in echo from behind.