Fantasy is exhausting. Honestly, if I have to read one more five-hundred-page prologue about the geopolitical tensions of a kingdom named something like Aer'the'vail, I might just give up on the genre entirely. But then Nicholas Eames came along with Kings of the Wyld, and suddenly, the "getting the band back together" trope felt like the freshest thing in fiction.
It’s basically Spinal Tap meets Dungeons & Dragons.
You’ve got Clay Cooper. He’s a guy who just wants to live a quiet life, eat his wife’s cooking, and not get murdered by a chimera. But when his old friend Gabriel shows up at his door—looking like a wreck and carrying a sword that’s seen better decades—Clay has to make a choice. Gabe's daughter, Rose, is trapped in a city under siege by a "Heartwyld Horde" of monsters, and the only way to save her is to reunite Saga.
Saga wasn't just any group of mercenaries. They were the rock stars of their era. In this world, mercenary bands are literally called "bands." They have managers (booking agents), they go on "tours," and they have screaming fans who want their autographs. It’s a genius conceit. It works because it doesn't take itself too seriously, yet it still manages to punch you right in the gut with actual emotion when you least expect it.
The Brilliant Absurdity of Mercenary Rock Stars
Most fantasy authors try so hard to be the next Tolkien. They want the weight. The gravitas. Eames went the other way. He looked at the chaos of a D&D party and realized it looked a lot like a 1970s rock tour.
Think about it.
The front man who’s lost his luster? That’s Gabriel. The dependable guy who holds everything together? Clay. The erratic wizard who’s probably on too many potions? Moog. The brooding, dangerous guy with a dark secret? Matrick and Ganelon. Kings of the Wyld thrives because it treats these legends not as untouchable heroes, but as aging men with back pain and regrets.
They’re out of shape. Their armor doesn't fit right anymore. One of them has a literal "dad bod" that he’s trying to squeeze into a breastplate. It’s hilarious. But it’s also deeply relatable to anyone who has ever looked in the mirror and realized they aren't twenty-two anymore. The world has moved on, too. There are younger, flashier bands with better gear and more "social media" presence (in the form of bardic songs and flyers). Saga is a relic.
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Why the World-Building Actually Works
The Wyld is a terrifying place. It’s a dense, chaotic forest filled with every monster imaginable—and some Eames just made up for the fun of it. It’s a mess of biology. You have owlbears, sure, but you also have creatures that feel like they stepped out of a fever dream.
Usually, "kitchen sink" fantasy—where every monster exists at once—feels messy. It feels like the author couldn't decide on a theme. In Kings of the Wyld, the mess is the point. The Wyld is a decaying, overgrown frontier that represents the wildness of youth and the danger of the unknown. As the "civilized" world encroaches, the Wyld pushes back.
The Gear and the Gimmicks
One of the coolest things Eames does is how he handles magical items. They aren't just +1 swords.
- Blackheart: Gabriel’s famous sword.
- Slynt: Matrick’s twin daggers (and his complicated relationship with his wife).
- The Shield: Clay’s "weapon" of choice. He doesn't even use a sword; he uses a shield named Blackshield.
It’s about branding. In the world of the Heartwyld, your gear is your logo. If you’re going to be a legend, you need a look. This is where the E-E-A-T (Experience, Expertise, Authoritativeness, Trustworthiness) of the writing shines. Eames clearly understands the tropes of the genre well enough to subvert them. He isn't just mocking fantasy; he’s writing a love letter to it while pointing out how ridiculous it can be.
Dealing with the "Old Man" Trope
There’s a common misconception that "grimdark" fantasy has to be miserable. You know the type—everyone is a jerk, it’s always raining, and no one ever wins. Kings of the Wyld is often lumped into the grimdark category because it’s gritty and violent, but that’s a mistake.
This book is surprisingly wholesome.
The core of the story is friendship. It’s about "the boys" having each other’s backs when the world tells them they’re finished. There’s a scene early on where Clay is considering leaving his family to help Gabe. It’s heartbreaking. He loves his daughter. He loves his wife. He knows he might never come back. Eames doesn't gloss over the cost of heroism.
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Then you have Moog. Poor, brilliant, eccentric Moog. He’s searching for a cure for "the Rot," a disease that’s killing off the magical creatures (and his husband). His grief is handled with such a light touch that it catches you off guard. One minute you’re laughing at him trying to feed a monster, and the next, you’re realizing he’s the most tragic character in the book.
How It Ranks Against the Giants
If you look at the heavy hitters of modern fantasy—Joe Abercrombie, Brandon Sanderson, Patrick Rothfuss—Eames sits in a weird, wonderful middle ground.
He has the cynical wit of Abercrombie.
He has the imaginative world-building of Sanderson.
But he has a pacing that feels more like a summer blockbuster.
The book moves. Fast. There are no chapters where people just sit around a campfire discussing the lineage of a dead king for forty pages. If they’re at a campfire, something is probably about to try and eat them. Or Matrick is trying to brew some questionable alcohol.
The Logistics of a Mercenary Band
Let’s talk about the booking agents. This is a detail most people overlook when discussing the book. In this world, you don't just go out and kill a dragon. You get a contract. You have a "Vanguard" who handles the logistics.
It grounds the fantasy. It makes the "Wyld" feel like a business. It’s a brilliant commentary on the music industry. The "Golden Age" of bands is over, and the new ones are corporate, polished, and—honestly—a bit soulless. Saga represents the raw, garage-band era of mercenary work. They were messy, they were loud, and they were real.
Common Misconceptions About Kings of the Wyld
A lot of people think this is just a "funny" book. I’ve seen it recommended as a comedy.
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While it is hilarious, calling it a comedy is reductive. It’s a high-stakes adventure. The threat is real. People die. The monsters are gruesome. If you go in expecting Discworld, you might be shocked by the violence. It’s more like Guardians of the Galaxy—funny, yes, but with a lot of heart and some genuinely dark moments.
Another thing: people assume you need to be a massive D&D nerd to get it.
You don't.
Sure, the references are there. If you know what a Beholder is, you’ll smirk. But if you don't, it’s just a scary monster with too many eyes. The story stands on its own.
What Really Happened with the Sequel?
People always ask if they need to read Bloody Rose (the sequel) immediately.
My advice? Take a breath.
Kings of the Wyld works perfectly as a standalone. Bloody Rose shifts the perspective to the next generation—specifically Rose, Gabriel’s daughter. It’s a different vibe. It’s more "hair metal 80s" than "classic rock 70s." It’s also much darker.
If Kings is about the nostalgia of the past, Bloody Rose is about the pressure of living up to a legacy. Both are great, but Kings is the one that sticks in your ribs.
Actionable Insights for Your Next Read
If you’re looking to dive into this world, or if you’ve already read it and want something similar, here’s how to approach it:
- Listen to the Soundtrack: Nicholas Eames actually has official playlists on Spotify for his books. Listen to the 70s rock tracks while reading. It changes the entire experience. It’s not just background noise; it’s the heartbeat of the story.
- Watch the Pacing: Notice how Eames uses "the Rule of Three." Usually, things go wrong twice before they go right. In Saga’s case, things go wrong about eight times before they barely survive. It’s a masterclass in tension.
- Look for the Easter Eggs: There are nods to everything from Led Zeppelin to The Princess Bride.
- Don't Skip the Epilogue: It provides a sense of closure that is rare in modern fantasy trilogies.
Kings of the Wyld reminded us that fantasy can be fun again. It doesn't have to be a chore. It can be a wild, loud, beer-stained riot of a journey.
If you’re tired of the same old "chosen one" narratives, go pick this up. Look for the cover with the guys standing in the forest looking like they’ve seen better days. That’s Saga. They’re retired, they’re tired, and they’re the best thing to happen to the genre in a decade.
Next Steps for Readers:
Check out the official "Kings of the Wyld" Spotify playlist created by Nicholas Eames to set the mood for your read. After finishing, look into the "Band" concept in real-world history—mercenary groups like the Condottieri in Italy actually operated with similar (though less magical) contract structures. If you’ve already finished the book, move on to Bloody Rose, but be prepared for a significant tonal shift toward more emotional deconstruction of fame.