Naming Bullets Page 5

Ullu.

  “The bullets from this will do more than anger them. It has the ability to kill them as well.”

  “Kill bad Elfs,” said Ullu, and Giryati was amazed to see her eyes bright with tears. “Ullu no help.”

  “Why?” asked Giryati.

  Ullu looked into the fire, and a tear rolled down one wizened cheek. “Kill bad Elfs Hork magic. Elfs angry. Elfs hunt Horks. Horks hunt Elfs. Much die. Pokshin.”

  “Pokshin,” repeated Giryati, wondering what it meant.

  “Much kill. Much die. Horks. Elfs.”

  “Elves call that war, Ullu. War is a terrible thing.”

  “Elf no war. No kill. No bad Elfs.”

  “Because these are bad Elves, and what they did to me they will do to another given the chance. If I stop them tomorrow, how many lives of future victims am I saving?”

  Ullu snorted. “Stupid Elf.”

  “We can be at times.” Giryati nodded in agreement. “I’m sorry to have involved you in this at all.”

  “Ullu leave tonight,” she said coldly.

  He sighed. “As you wish. I have no quarrel with you. I think of you as my friend. I don’t wish to trouble you further.”

  “Ullu . . . friend?” she pursed her lips in a low, slow whistle.

  “What is that?”

  Her eyes were wide. “No Elf ever say Ullu a friend before.”

  “You saved my life. I’m indebted to you. You’ve been a pleasant and informative traveling companion, even when covered with rusa,” said Giryati with a chuckle.

  Ullu sniffled. “Rusa bad.”

  Giryati looked at the pistol in his hand. “I’m not a very good shot with one of these anyway. I’m much more comfortable with a bow. I’ll just take my chances with it instead.”

  They spoke no more on the subject, instead rolling up in their blankets and listening to the popping of the fire as it slowly died down.

  Giryati was nearly asleep when Ullu spoke out of the darkness. “Bad Elfs hunt good Elfs?”

  “Yes, I believe they will.”

  Ullu made a noncommittal grunt and did not say another word.

  Morning came and the two ate a hasty breakfast before packing up the camp. Ullu seemed unusually quiet, and only grunted monosyllabic answers to Giryati’s questions and comments. Finally he shrugged his shoulders, deciding that she simply didn’t want to talk to him, and left her alone with her thoughts.

  By midday, they could see two riders miles distant, occasionally cresting hills before disappearing into shallow valleys. Giryati spurred his horse on ever so slightly quicker. He and Ullu traveled rapidly, keeping breaks short and setting a quicker pace, and now it had paid off. The two bandits ahead of them rode much more leisurely, secure in the knowledge the maps they held in their possession were worth a great many crowns; enough to buy a plot of land, or a house in town, or enough time in the bordellos to ensure death by one of the many generative diseases plaguing such establishments.

  Giryati began checking his weapons, preparing himself for a fight, and discovered his two pistol bullets were missing. “What is this, Ullu?” His tone was accusatory. “Why did you take them?”

  Ullu sniffed spitefully. “No kohaddaween. Bad magic.”

  “I couldn’t use it against them. You wouldn’t show it to me,” retorted Giryati. “But they’re armed with rifles, or at least they were when they robbed me. It would be nice to have something to shoot back at them with.”

  “Bow.”

  “This? This is nothing. I could bring down a talarin at a hundred paces with this . . . maybe. I’m no soldier. I’d be lucky to hit anything at any real distance.”

  Ullu spat to one side and said nothing, unmoved by his argument.

  Giryati busied himself checking his bowstring for weak spots. “I’m going to die.”

  They rode in silence for many minutes. The bandits didn’t appear to have noticed them yet, for they continued their lackadaisical pace. Giryati kept stealing glances at Ullu. A great conflict was taking place on her horsey face. At times she muttered to herself, as if verbalizing her internal argument.

  Ahead of them, the bandits stopped and set up their camp. Giryati estimated they were only a day from the edge of civilization. He would have to act tonight. He and Ullu paused in their pursuit, waiting for darkness to fall. There would be no campfire for them that night, no comfortable dinner.

  Giryati handed the reins of his horse to Ullu. “If I’m not back before midnight, I’m not coming back,” he said. “Thank you for everything, Ullu.”

  “Elf . . .” She held out her fist and dropped the two bullets into his hand. The rusa on them gleamed in the moonlight.

  “Why, Ullu?”

  She bowed her head. “Ullu no want good Elf die. Hunt bad Elfs. Bad Elfs no kill others.”

  A sudden lump in Giryati’s throat gave his voice a huskiness. “I’ll be careful, Ullu, and I’ll see you soon. I promise.” He snapped open the chamber of the pistol and fed the two bullets into their slots. “How do I know which bullet is for which Elf?”

  “Rusa know.” Ullu sniffled, a sound magnified by the size of her nose.

  Giryati paused, trying to find the right words to say, a phrase that would somehow provide a sense of closure to their journey should it end for him this night. “I’ll be back.”

  He padded quietly off into the darkness, setting a brisk jogging pace. He reasoned if he was indeed to perish, he didn’t want to delay the inevitable. The pumping of his legs and the thrumming of blood in his ears helped dull his thoughts somewhat, for he had begun to second-guess his admittedly petty revenge scheme.

  Before long, he drew close to the bandits’ camp, and exchanged his trot for first a cautious walk and finally an agonizing crawl, keeping as low to the ground as possible while still trying to make less noise than a breeze. He took a dark rag and covered the pistol clutched in his hand so the firelight wouldn’t glint off the steel. He heard nothing but the crackling of the fire and the occasional quiet whicker from the sleeping horses.

  There they lay, wrapped in blankets and peacefully asleep, the two Elves that had left him for dead days past. He’d sworn to himself if he lived he would never forget their faces. He felt like he knew these two like brothers, remembering every scar and blemish. Now he could see them laid out before the barrel of his pistol, he knew with terrible certainty he’d be cursed always to remember those faces; every time he slept, they would be there to remind him he was a murderer.

  Killing these two would be a boon to the world, leaving it a better place with their passing, but Giryati realized he could not cross the line into that dark morass where despair and hatred ruled. The decision was like a heavy stone block removed from his back by the way it lightened his mood and quickened his step. He wouldn’t kill them, but neither would he allow them to go back to benefit from his hard work either. Moving with every bit of stealth he could muster, he took the precious waterproof map case from where it hung on a saddle. The horse flinched a bit but didn’t waken as he lifted it free. He popped open the cap. The maps were still inside, safely protected from extremes of weather. They represented months of painstaking work to him. He took comfort in seeing notations in his own hand and the careful lines delineating landscape features, flickering in the dying firelight. He started to leave the camp, but then stopped, thinking.

  Stealing the maps would anger the bandits. They would likely pursue him, unwilling to easily part with valuable booty. He and Ullu had pushed their mounts in the pursuit; the horse and greatdeer were tired, whereas the bandits’ mounts would be relatively fresh. He considered whether it would be better to not return to Ullu, instead trying to make it to civilization ahead of the pursuing bandits, but the idea held little interest to him any longer.

  Giryati decided he didn’t care about returning to the cities. He reflected on the past few days with Ullu. He’d truly been happy to have her as company, and was intensely curious about her, her family, her magic, and her people. Perhaps he co
uld learn about them without involving a sponsor. He could go live among them; live as one of them. Someday he might return to his own people to share his knowledge, but for now he felt he’d rather live among people who didn’t prey on one another. Civilization. He smiled wryly and wondered which culture was truly the more civilized. Having made his decision, all that remained was for him to give the bandits no reason to follow him.

  He didn’t regret setting the case in the campfire in the least. The waterproofing sizzled and popped as the flames overtook it and soon the case was blazing thoroughly. Satisfied, he took one last look at the sleepers before leaving the camp behind him. One started to stir. Giryati trotted off before the bandit could awaken sufficiently to realize their previous victim still lived.

  As he ran across the grassy plain, he heard shouts behind him. His handiwork had been discovered. There was more shouting, and then the sound of guns firing, then nothing but silence. Had they fought? Killed each other over an imagined foolishness? It didn’t matter; Giryati felt they would not follow him. This close to the Elven colonies there were far easier pickings to be had.

  He found Ullu still waiting where he’d left her. She’d set up a dark camp and was awake, huddled in blankets. He hunkered down next to her and set the named bullets on the ground before her.

  “No kill bad Elfs.”

  “No. I couldn’t. Chance determined their Fate, not me.”

  Ullu smiled at him. “Elf good. Like Hork here.” She tapped her head. “And