King of Phoenix: Part One

[Maledicte]

my current novel. First one, actually. Heh heh. I figured I'd finally post it here to get more input and because R.Zion hasn't gotten around to READING the chapters I sent him, and hoping that he'll at least read it here.
No it is not about some guy who decided to tke over Arizona. It's fantasy, although in the more minimalistic vein--not so much mages and spells and doom and lots of magical creatures as is the setting, which is roughly medieval and never happened. But yes, some magic and monsters, but not tons of it.
Some slight offensive language (although I don't think it's been written yet, I forget), and quite a bit of violence and blood. The violence doesn't occur until chapter 8, I believe.
These chapters are still rather rough, as I have been given feedback but haven't rewritten them. I'll do a mass rewrite later on.
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Arick departed in the spring, when the days were just beginning their three-month trek to longevity. Farmers were preparing their fields for the year’s crops, livestock were giving birth. Other trades would surely be requiring extra assistance due to the influx of customers during the warmer months. Perhaps someone would be in need of Arick’s services. Perhaps he could leave his bad luck behind somewhere.
He decided on first going to the city of Sorister, where he and his grandfather went to sell their crops on market day. Sorister was technically a two-day trip one way, but considering the mishaps that often occurred because of their fine, odious, stubborn donkey and rickety old wagon the trip was often extended to five days both ways. Free of both burdens, Arick could make the trip in the original time allotted, although he did have to stop and rest.
He reached Sorister at dusk, just before its gates were about to close. Nervously he began to trek the worn, slick streets, looking for a warm and inviting inn, which he supposed were always warm and inviting. He followed and orangey light whose source lay inside the windows of a rather gloomy two-story building. As he approached he could hear harsh laughing mixed with cursing (he tried his best to ignore it) and the obvious sounds of a brawl. He slid cautiously forward.
When Arick reached the door it exploded outwards with one man plowing another onto the street, where he landed a few more punches on the other. When he finished, the victor spat on the fallen loser, now writhing in the dirt, and stalked back towards the building.
Arick, still panting from his narrow escape from the door, gingerly tapped the man’s shoulder. “Ex-xcuse me, sir?â€