When he rounded the corner the sword was held low. Mist wreathed him from head to toe. It clung to his arms, to his shoulders, and to his face as he slid forward. Nothing could be done to save the bandit whose black outline appeared in the fog. He was not looking in Ulbarich's direction. Instead he was staring north, toward that orange haze, and probably thinking of warm stew for this cold night. Squeezing as close as he could to the stone without sliding against it Ulbarich stared hard. Any sign that the lookout was alert would be Ulbarich's cue to whistle. Captain Uthral could spring around the corner and put an arrow in the fellow, provided she could see him.
"Wish I was at the fire," the bandit was talking to himself. "Don't like all this business of chores."
Ulbarich raised the Katzbalger above his head. It was simple enough to grip the thing in two hands. Armor on the back, on the chest, on the shoulders. There was only one place available for a clean strike. The fellow's head and neck were not covered by anything save fabric. That would make it easy enough for this brutal, armor piercing sword to end a life without sending too much of a ruckus into the crowd at large. No telling how far away the others were, but if they heard something, it was going to give the game away.
A solid hack, both arms bringing the blade down on the top of the bastard's head. Only a wet sort of crunch escaped. He didn't have time to scream. Legs still twitching, the man sank to the ground. Ulbarich put a boot heel against the man's shoulder and shoved as hard as he could, freeing the Katzbalger from a ruined skull.
The blood would have to wait.
Two knocks on the stone carried far enough to signal the others. Ulbarich was close enough to see, now. The Captain tapped his eyelids with two fingers, and then raised a flat palm above his head. Captain Uthral was to watch above, in case anything became visible and threatening in the same instant. The rest of them were on point. Ulbarich started walking.