Free Star of the Morning by Lynn Kurland

wasn’t even sure the days were actually passing.
    Though he knew they were. He’d been counting the days since Adhémar had left, and the number of times he’d heard from his eldest brother. The latter was the easier number because it totaled none.
    He’d sent out birds to search, but they had returned with no tidings. He’d sent messages with discreet messengers, but heard nothing in return. He’d had no sense of his brother himself, but perhaps that was not unheard of, considering how little magic, if any at all, Adhémar retained. But two months had passed, and then some, and Miach knew he had to act. Soon.
    He sat down across from Cathar in front of his fire and accepted a cup of ale. It tasted flat and unappealing and he had to set it aside.
    â€œGood heavens, Miach,” Cathar said, sounding genuinely concerned, “what ails you?”
    â€œI’m not certain,” Miach said.
    â€œYour eyes are red.”
    â€œI said I wasn’t sleeping.”
    â€œAre you drinking?”
    â€œNot that either.”
    Cathar let out a low whistle. “This isn’t good. What is troubling you?”
    â€œBesides the obvious?”
    â€œBesides that,” Cathar agreed.
    Miach considered. If there was a soul he trusted with his innermost thoughts, it was Cathar. They had been close for as long as Miach could remember. Cathar had saved him from all manner of bullying from other brothers until Miach could stand up for himself, then he’d remained there, steady and solid, since that time. His brother was a vault, a silent repository of things that Miach never would have dared tell anyone else. If he could tell anyone what ailed him, it would be Cathar.
    â€œVery well,” Miach said seriously, “I will confide in you.” He took a deep breath and let it out slowly before he spoke. “My spells are fading.”
    â€œWhich ones?”
    â€œThe ones of defense,” Miach said.
    Cathar’s mouth fell open. “You jest.”
    â€œI don’t.”
    Cathar had a very long pull from his ale. “Defense? You mean those wee bits of magic that keep our border from being overrun by all manner of beasties and evil things sent from black mages we might know?”
    â€œThose bits of magic are not so wee,” Miach said dryly, “but aye, those are the spells I fear are being affected. An effect, I might remind you, that I did not author.”
    Cathar cradled his mug in his hands. “So? What have you decided to do? Are you going to go find what is wreaking this havoc, or merely wait it out and hope it goes away?”
    â€œI daresay it won’t go away. I have the strength to shore up the spells, but it will drain even me eventually.” He paused. “I fear this is just the beginning of the assault. And if we are assaulted and it is only my magic we can call on ...” He almost couldn’t bring himself to voice his next words. “I am concerned about the outcome of that.”
    â€œIs it Lothar behind the mischief, do you think?”
    Miach paused. “I suspected so, at first, but there is something different about this magic. A faint whiff of a something that is not Lothar’s.” Miach paused. “Now that I think about it, Adhémar carried that same smell about him after he lost his magic in that battle.”
    Cathar shook his head. “Impossible.”
    â€œIs it?” Miach mused. “I daresay not.”
    â€œWho is doing this?” Cathar asked, stunned. “Who would dare? Who has the power?”
    Miach shrugged. “All very good questions I wish I had the answers to. All I know is that I cannot watch the kingdom, maintain my spells, and solve this mystery at the same time. Not without some sort of aid. Even just the smallest bit of it.” He looked at Cathar and smiled wryly. “I am stretched rather thin at the moment.”
    â€œYou look terrible.”
    â€œI imagine I