Horselords by David Cook, Larry Elmore

flew from your fingers,” Koja said, explaining what he saw.
    “That was the power of Teylas,” Yamun replied. He turned and resumed walking toward the Great Yurt. They continued on in silence through Quaraband.
    At last they returned to the door of the royal yurt. Yamun threw open the flap and was about to step inside when Koja stopped him.
    “Please wait, Great Lord,” Koja blurted, barely observing proper courtesy. Yamun stopped in the doorway, looking back over his shoulder.
    “What did Teylas tell you?” Koja asked, bowing slightly as he spoke.
    Yamun looked at the priest. A small, sardonic smile crossed his face. “He—”
    “He what, Illustrious Emperor of the Tuigan?” Koja prompted, unable to suppress his curiosity.
    Yamun looked slowly at the sky, and saw the starlight visible through the thinning clouds. “He showed me the entire world, priest, from the great water in the east to lands of the west. I saw Shou Lung and this ‘Cor-meer’ you spoke of.” The khahan, eyes blazing, turned back to the priest, yet seemed to focus on something farther away. “Green lands and forests, wailing to be conquered—and all I have to do is reach out and take them.”
    Koja stepped back as Yamun spoke. The khahan’s voice was slowly growing as the warlord saw his vision once again unfold before his eyes. “Teylas promised you these things?” Koja ventured fearfully.
    “Teylas promises nothing. He only showed what I could have. It’s up to me to take it,” Yamun answered coldly. The priest’s question dimmed the fire in Yamun’s eyes. “I will be emperor of the world.”
    “The world is large and has many emperors, Yamun Khahan,” Koja pointed out. The priest shivered in his wet robes.
    “Then I’ll conquer them, and they’ll be the slaves of my khans.” Yamun leaned slightly against the doorframe of the yurt. “And you’ll tell the story of my life.”
    “What?” Koja gasped in astonishment.
    “You will write the history of my rule. I will be a great emperor. As my historian, you will be honored by many.” Yamun stepped inside the yurt, and Koja followed him, still arguing.
    “But—but—I am just an envoy, Great Lord. Surely there must be someone better.”
    The nightguard, the same man who was in the yurt when they left, ran up to the door and dropped to one knee alongside the khahan. “Great Khan!” he said in surprised relief. “You live! I will tell my brothers that you have safely returned.”
    “You’ll stay until I dismiss you,” Yamun countered as he walked past. “Koja of Khazari, you will write the history of my life—starting from right now. No one else will do.”
    “Great Lord, I serve Prince Ogandi. It would not be right.” Koja hurried across the yurt.
    “I don’t care. You’ll write it because I need you—who else would write the truth? Mother Bayalun? Her wizards? I wouldn’t trust them. My generals? They’re like me—they don’t know this magic of writing. You—” He wagged his finger at Koja. “You, I trust. And that is why I choose you.”
    “Lord Yamun, I am very flattered, but you barely know me. I have a responsibility to my prince. I cannot serve you.” Koja realized he was knotting his fingers.
    “You’re in my tent, in my land. You will do what I say,” Yamun commanded. He began unwrapping the wet sash from around his waist.
    “And if Prince Ogandi bids me otherwise?” asked Koja as he nervously squeezed the water from his cuffs.
    “Then I will deal with your prince.” Yamun spoke in slow, measured words.
    “I’m loyal to Khazari,” Koja pressed, his throat getting dry with tension.
    “It doesn’t matter. I trust you. There’s no more discussion to be had of this.” Yamun tossed his wet sash aside and settled himself on his throne.
    Koja rubbed his head in frustration. He was stymied. In desperation he tried another ploy. “Isn’t there a saying of your people about a man who tells the truth?”
    Yamun looked about for his wine cup. ”