My book!?

What do you think of this for the beginning? It'll be a bit long, because it's about 3 pages on Microsoft Word.

Prologue: Game Over

Armeniol was running. Running for his life. ‘Why am I being chased?’ he thought. ‘Is this an assassin who’s after me?’
Thoroughly confused, he dashed through the forest, darting right and left to avoid the ominous shapes of the trees. In the distance, he could hear the clanking of the robotic dogs sent to kill him. Their barking cries sounded like un-oiled hinges, and fingernails on a blackboard.
He looked around frantically. Through the trees, just off to his right, he could see the shape of a dog. There was a flash of lightning, and he could see the dog clearly. Its robotic muscles bulged as they pounded the ground, and its metallic brown fur glistened in the light.
His heart pounding in his chest, Armeniol put on a burst of speed. He exploded into a clearing. A group of dogs suddenly leaped, snarling, into his path. With a shout, he tried to stop and change his course. ‘Too late.’ he thought. ‘I’ll have to jump them.’
He flew across the ground, running further with each step, and then leaped into the air. The dogs snapped at his feet as he sailed over their heads. As he began his descent, he was surprised by the fact that the earth rose to meet his feet alarmingly fast. Then, he landed. Propelled by his descent, his foot caught on a root protruding from a nearby oak. He stumbled and fell. His long blonde hair flew into his face, but he brushed it away with an exasperated sweep of his hand.
A dog barked just a few feet behind him. Cursing, he rose again to his feet, and began to run, just in time to avoid the closing jaws of the nearest dog. He ran.

Several long minutes later, Armeniol had slightly increased the distance between himself and the dogs. Lungs burning and head reeling, he looked desperately around for something to slow the dogs.
Running at full speed now, faster than he had ever run before, he came across a gravel road. He swooped down to grab a rock, sliding to the left as he did so, and chucked it behind him. He heard a strangled yelp followed closely by a loud series of crashes. Glancing over his shoulder, he saw that the stone he threw had by some miracle hit the lead dog directly in its metallic eye. It had collapsed onto the ground, whining in pain.
Most of the other dogs had crashed into their wounded leader. The luckier dogs, those who had been following from a distance, merely ran around the canine traffic jam.
Armeniol heaved a sigh of relief. He was safe, or rather slightly safer than he had been a moment before.
Directly in front of him, about fifty feet away, he saw a tree. It was no ordinary tree, but rather, it was enormous! Next to the tree, there was a giant, moss-covered boulder as big as a large whale. However, the tree easily made the rock look small, like a toy poodle adhered to its master’s side. About every two feet around the trunk of the tree, there were huge, sturdy branches. They rose upwards in a spiraling manner, like a spiral staircase reaching for the heavens.
High above the earth, Armeniol could just make out a platform. A group of smaller, but still very sturdy branches had been woven together to make a crude floor. Realizing that the dogs would not be able to follow him up the tree, he began to climb.
About halfway up the staircase to his momentary salvation, Armeniol accidentally looked down from where he stood on the tree. He was so high up that when he spotted the rock, it looked as if it were no bigger than his fist. Unsuccessfully trying to overcome his sudden fear of heights, he was hit by a sudden bout of dizziness. He grabbed at the tree trunk to steady himself, then continued up the tree.
Fearing that he would lose his balance again, he began to mumble a grave chant that he made up as he went along. "Left foot, right foot, uh… hold on tight. I won’t be those dogs’ dinner tonight. Right and left placed who knows where. Soon, those dogs’ll be out of my hair!"
His voice swelled in volume as he began to march, his legs rising outrageously high in order to reach the next branch, as they were starting to grow further apart. "Now my feet will move as one. It seems the fun has just begun!" At these words, he began to jump from branch to branch. "Right foot, left —" but his words were cut off as a lightning bolt struck the tree right next to him. His shouts were drowned in the instant boom of thunder, and with a deafening crack, the tree toppled to the forest floor.
Armeniol began to laugh hysterically. He had been on the run now for almost an hour, and was beginning to feel the strain of his exertions. His legs felt like Jello; his arms like lead. His brain felt as if it were going to burst, and his ears were ringing in the aftermath of the explosion. As he looked up, he found that the platform was still a long ways off. Exhausted, Armeniol’s body rested, while his brain tried to catch up on the events of the past two days.

Had it been only yesterday when the King had been overthrown? That day, in Armeniol’s opinion, the worst day in his entire life, and only partially because he had lost his job as the King’s secretary.
He supposed that the day would have been quite enjoyable, besides of course the overthrow of the King, if he were someone who enjoyed a few changes now and then. On the contrary, Armeniol had always preferred a predictable lifestyle.
On that fateful day, he had gotten up at 6:30am, sharp. He washed his face in the sink with his favorite washcloth, and yawned three times in quick succession, as was his custom. Like usual, he ate cold cereal and buttered toast for breakfast. It was only when he went to shave that odd things started happening.
He walked to his bathroom, whistling a happy tune, the same tune as always. As he pulled out his razor out of the cupboard, however, his mirror began to fog up. Well, it wasn’t really fogging up, but rather fog was gathering inside the mirror. Alarmed, Armeniol dropped the razor, which fell towards the ground in an effort to get away from the strange mirror.
The mirror, Armeniol remembered, was a gift from Maturgo, the President of the Wizards Guild. According to Maturgo, the mirror was enchanted, and might occasionally speak. This had never happened before, so Armeniol was rather frightened by the fog in the glass.
After several tense moments, he had almost calmed down, but the mirror was not finished. It began to shimmer. Waves of blue and yellow light ran back and forth along the surface of the mirror, and a staticky noise issued from somewhere on its rim. Then, the static cleared to show the face of Maturgo.
Armeniol remembered Maturgo as a friendly, plump man, somewhere in his thirties. He had a crop of wavy black hair, and bright green eyes that sparkled all the time. His mouth was almost always smiling, or perhaps beaming, a young, excited grin.
The Maturgo in the mirror, however, was not the same. His eyes had lost their welcoming shine, changing instead to an evil, intimidating glow. His mouth too, had changed. No longer charming, his lips were twisted into a mutated smile, the kind of smile on the face of a murderer as he closes in for the kill.
Those lips, although changed, were still apparently capable of speech, for a moment later, they parted as Maturgo began to speak. "Greetings Armeniol." His voice sounded menacing, as if he meant to do Armeniol harm. "How is your day?" He paused, as if waiting for an answer. When none came, as Armeniol was precariously teetering over the edge of his bath, Maturgo continued. "No, no Armeniol! We would not want you to crack your head in your bath, would we?"
Again, Armeniol did not answer, but Maturgo raised his hand, and muttered a few inaudible words. Instantly, a bolt of blue light shot out of the mirror, grabbed Armeniol, and set him firmly on his feet.
"There you are," said Maturgo. "Now that I’ve saved you from cracking open your skull, the least you could do is have a conversation with me!"
Armeniol finally found his voice, and squeaked, "Of course Maturgo. I would be more than happy to, um, chat." He was a little flustered at the thought of speaking to a mirror that until two minutes ago had been perfectly normal. "So, how’s your … day been Maturgo?"
Maturgo scowled, "Who cares? I just stopped in to give you a warning. I don’t need you trying to talk. All you need to do is listen."
"Why did you tell me to have a conversation with you then?"
"That’s completely beside the point. I’m here to tell you not to go to work today. You will only get in the way. Anyway, if you do come, you will be in mortal danger."
Armeniol frowned. He was secretary to the King, and not to come would mean that the King would have a very unorganized day. Armeniol was one of the only people in the Castle that was actually organized.
After some thought, he realized that if Maturgo did not want him to come even though he knew (and Armeniol was sure he did) that Armeniol was the person who kept the King organized, something fishy was up. Was it just coincidence that Maturgo looked a little stressed? Well, more than a little, he looked like he hadn’t slept in days.
As far as Armeniol could see, there was only one way he could find out if Maturgo was up to something, or if he was just worn out. Clearing his throat, he said, "Hard time at the Guild Maturgo? You look a bit careworn." He could have sworn that Maturgo had bared his teeth.
"Oh, just the usual. Junhin, my right-hand man is trying to sort it out as we speak. Well, I’ve got to go. So long, and don’t forget to stay away from work today!" The mirror shuddered, and then was still.
Free from the presence of the new Maturgo, Armeniol breathed a sigh, although he could not tell whether it was from relief from Maturgo leaving, or anxiety to go to the Castle. Although Maturgo had said not to, Armeniol was determined to go. In fact, there was something about the way Maturgo had seemed to intent on keeping him away that made Armeniol very apprehensive about going to the Castle.