Just wanted some honest opinions - these are the first few paragraphs of my fantasy novel and wanted to know if this is a good way to begin, what do you think of the writing style and does it hold your attention, make you want to read more? I don’t mind criticism.
The crowd was dense and boisterous, most of the men drunk and most of the women chatting loudly. There were people of every trade, class and age present – the king did not discriminate when it came to spectators. Prince Nyarr was glad of his seat on the royal platform, sitting comfortably beside his father and sister, a guard on either side. It may not have been strictly necessary to be guarded – this was a day of celebration and sport and the atmosphere was positive – but you could never be too careful when you were royalty.
The prince rapped his fingers on the armrest of his wooden chair impatiently. He was as keen as his father for the game to begin. He may have been more reserved than the king about his enthusiasm, but it was certainly present. The match was set to be interesting indeed, with the reigning champion pitted against a first-time contestant in the tournament. The newcomer had drifted easily through the previous rounds, showing skills that most players never acquired. The champion was Cloreus, a man resembling a gargantuan oak tree, even to the tone of his grey-brown skin. He had won the tournament twice already. Normally, bigger men did not fare well in Disarm, but Cloreus moved more swiftly than seemed possible at his size and his grip was like that of roots to the ground.
Prince Nyarr had wagered a significant sum of gold on Cloreus’ victory. Some might have felt it unseemly for a prince to gamble, but amongst the young nobles with whom he was friends, it was practically a social necessity.
Beside him, Nyarr’s father the king drank deeply from his wine cup and rapped his armrest in exactly the same impatient way that Nyarr did. Instantly, the prince ceased, feeling a little uncomfortable at his subconscious imitation of his father’s habits. It was never good to follow too closely everything a role model did, particularly if that meant he would one day be as fat and jolly as King Borodin. Nyarr tried his best to avoid the excessive feasting and merrymaking of his father. As much as he loved him, it struck the prince as improper for the ruler to look and act like an innkeeper.
As they waited, a man stepped onto the platform and bowed smoothly.
‘Your majesty, the contenders are ready. You may introduce the event.’
‘Excellent!’ King Borodin exclaimed with a hearty grin covering his moon-shaped face. ‘Dartell, why don’t you watch from here? It’s a perfect view and you’ll struggle to breathe down there in that crowd.’
The man looked a little taken aback, then flattered, and said, ‘It would be my pleasure, your majesty. I thank you.’
‘Good, good,’ said the king, indicating the seat to Nyarr’s left.
The prince nodded politely at Dartell, who sat, looking slightly ill at ease with the situation. Nyarr knew the man, chiefly because King Borodin had frequently expressed the desire to enlist Dartell in the Order of the City Knights. He was currently employed as a guard in the palace and had given five years of impeccable servitude and reliability to the royal house. Nyarr was unsure about the man, without disliking him. He had an aloof and uncomfortable demeanour, though he was faultless in his duties. Nyarr sometimes wondered if Dartell was just extremely shy.
‘Ladies, gentlemen and children of Eldrad.’ The king’s voice boomed suddenly over the rabble of the crowd below. ‘Welcome to the final contest of Disarm of this tournament. We have witnessed some fantastic matches over the past few days, but it has finally come to these two undefeated players, who now must face each other in a game of three rounds. The winner will of course receive a bag of five gold pieces and the chance to ask a favour of their king – that is, of myself. If it is in my power, I will grant it to him.’