Unperturbed by the interruption, Lifaen continued: “As you say, Ilirea was one of our cities. We abandoned it during our war with the dragons, and then, centuries later, humans adopted it as their capital after King Palancar was exiled.”
Eragon said, “King Palancar? Who was he? Is that how Palancar Valley got its name?”
This time the elf turned and looked at him with amusement. “You have as many questions as leaves on a tree, Argetlam.”
“Brom was of the same opinion.”
Lifaen smiled, then paused, as if to gather his thoughts. “When your ancestors arrived in Alagaësia eight hundred years ago, they roamed far across it, seeking a suitable place to live. Eventually, they settled in Palancar Valley — though it was not called such then — as it was one of the few defendable locations that we or the dwarves had not claimed. There your king, Palancar, began to build a mighty state.
“In an attempt to expand his borders, he declared war against us, though we had offered no provocation. Three times he attacked, and three times we prevailed. Our strength frightened Palancar’s nobles and they pled with their liege for peace. He ignored their counsel. Then the lords approached us with a treaty, which we signed without the king’s knowledge.
“With our help, Palancar was usurped and banished, but he, his family, and their vassals refused to leave the valley. Since we had no wish to murder them, we constructed the tower of Ristvak’baen so the Riders could watch over Palancar and ensure he would never again rise to power or attack anyone else in Alagaësia.
“Before long Palancar was killed by a son who did not wish to wait for nature to take its course. Thereafter, family politics consisted of assassination, betrayal, and other depravities, reducing Palancar’s house to a shadow of its former grandeur. However, his descendants never left, and the blood of kings still runs in Therinsford and Carvahall.”
“I see,” said Eragon.
Lifaen lifted one dark eyebrow. “Do you? It has more significance than you may think. It was this event that convinced Anurin — Vrael’s predecessor as head Rider — to allow humans to become Riders, in order to prevent similar disputes.”
Orik emitted a bark of laughter. “That must have caused some argument.”
“It was an unpopular decision,” admitted Lifaen. “Even now some question the wisdom of it. It caused such a disagreement between Anurin and Queen Dellanir that Anurin seceded from our government and established the Riders on Vroengard as an independent entity.”
“But if the Riders were separated from your government, then how could they keep the peace, as they were supposed to?” asked Eragon.
“They couldn’t,” said Lifaen. “Not until Queen Dellanir saw the wisdom of having the Riders free of any lord or king and restored their access to Du Weldenvarden. Still, it never pleased her that any authority could supersede her own.”
Eragon frowned. “Wasn’t that the whole point, though?”
“Yes... and no. The Riders were supposed to guard against the failings of the different governments and races, yet who watched the watchers? It was that very problem that caused the Fall. No one existed who could descry the flaws within the Riders’ own system, for they were above scrutiny, and thus, they perished.”
Eragon stroked the water — first on one side and then the other — while he considered Lifaen’s words. His paddle fluttered in his hands as it cut diagonally across the current. “Who succeeded Dellanir as king or queen?”
“Evandar did. He took the knotted throne five hundred years ago — when Dellanir abdicated in order to study the mysteries of magic — and held it until his death. Now his mate, Islanzadí, rules us.”
“That’s—” Eragon stopped with his mouth open. He was going to say impossible, but then realized how ridiculous the statement would sound. Instead, he asked, “Are elves immortal?”
In a soft voice, Lifaen said, “Once we were like you, bright, fleeting, and as ephemeral as the morning dew. Now our lives stretch endlessly through the dusty years. Aye, we are immortal, although we are still vulnerable to injuries of the flesh.”
“You became immortal? How?” The elf refused to elaborate, though Eragon pressed him for details. Finally, Eragon asked, “How old is Arya?”
Lifaen turned his glittering eyes on him, probing Eragon with disconcerting acuteness. “Arya? What is your interest in her?”
“I...” Eragon faltered, suddenly unsure of his intentions. His attraction to Arya was complicated by the fact that she was an elf, and that her age, whatever it might be, was so much greater than his own. She must view me as a child. “I don’t know,” he said honestly. “But she saved both my life and Saphira’s, and I’m curious to know more about her.”
“I feel ashamed,” said Lifaen, pronouncing each word carefully, “for asking such a question. Among our kind, it is rude to pry into one’s affairs... Only, I must say, and I believe that Orik agrees with me, that you would do well to guard your heart, Argetlam. Now is not the time to lose it, nor would it be well placed in this instance.”
“Aye,” grunted Orik.
Heat suffused Eragon as blood rushed to his face, like hot tallow melting through him. Before he could utter a retort, Saphira entered his mind and said, And now is the time to guard your tongue. They mean well. Don’t insult them.
He took a deep breath and tried to let his embarrassment drain away. Do you agree with them?
I believe, Eragon, that you are full of love and that you are looking for one who will reciprocate your affection. No shame exists in that.
He struggled to digest her words, then finally said, Will you be back soon?
I’m on my way now.
Returning his attention to his surroundings, Eragon found that both the elf and the dwarf were watching him. “I understand your concern... and I’d still like my question answered.”
Lifaen hesitated briefly. “Arya is quite young. She was born a year before the destruction of the Riders.”
A hundred! Though he had expected such a figure, Eragon was still shocked. He concealed it behind a blank face, thinking, She could have great-grandchildren older than me! He brooded on the subject for several minutes and then, to distract himself, said, “You mentioned that humans discovered Alagaësia eight hundred years ago. Yet Brom said that we arrived three centuries after the Riders were formed, which was thousands of years ago.”
“Two thousand, seven hundred, and four years, by our reckoning,” declared Orik. “Brom was right, if you consider a single ship with twenty warriors the ‘arrival’ of humans in Alagaësia. They landed in the south, where Surda is now. We met while they were exploring and exchanged gifts, but then they departed and we didn’t see another human for almost two millennia, or until King Palancar arrived with a fleet in tow. The humans had completely forgotten us by then, except for vague stories about hairy men-of-the-mountains that preyed on children in the night. Bah!”
“Do you know where Palancar came from?” asked Eragon.
Orik frowned and gnawed the tip of his mustache, then shook his head. “Our histories only say that his homeland was far to the south, beyond the Beors, and that his exodus was the result of war and famine.”
Excited by an idea, Eragon blurted, “So there might be countries elsewhere that could help us against Galbatorix.”
“Possibly,” said Orik. “But they would be difficult to find, even on dragonback, and I doubt that you’d speak the same language. Who would want to help us, though? The Varden have little to offer another country, and it’s hard enough to get an army from Farthen Dûr to Urû’baen, much less bring forces from hundreds, if not thousands, of miles away.”