Wild Hunt

The epic conclusion to the award-winning Blood of the Isir trilogy!

Who controls the strings of fate? Who controls time?

Ripped from Hank's grasp by her duplicitous minions, the Dark Queen has disappeared. But her most devoted, most powerful minion leaves a trail for Hank to follow—one that winds through the fabric of the universe and leads him into grave danger.

Hank discovers great evil at the heart of the universe—the Old Ones—and they want to warp the infinite paths of the multiverse so they all lead to darkness and ruin. He must find a way to defeat them, even if it means forming an alliance with the Dark Queen.

The Wild Hunt may be Hank's only chance of saving…everything.


critics reviews

"5 out of 5 Powerful Stars!"

"Without a doubt, there are many wonderful series available out in reading land. Whether you are looking for romance, thrillers, mystery or fantasy- you are bound to find one! However, every so often a series will come out which is so utterly captivating that it will grab you by the scruff of the neck and just won’t let go! You will be hooked from start to finish. That is just such the case with Erik Henry Vick’s Blood of the Isir trilogy. Indeed, the [third] book of the series, Wild Hunt keeps the momentum rolling and absolutely does not disappoint. For those looking to find resolution and further explore this fantasy land full of powerful gods, devious demons vicious shapeshifters and deadly dragons…Wild Hunt is the place to be!

Overall, this was an excellent [third] book for the series. The world building the author pulls off is stunning. Also, the key element of believability is met within an imaginative land of mythical creatures and fantastical adventures. Not an easy feat to pull off. The dialogue between characters is natural and flowing and supports the direction of the work. Everything in this book has purpose and the reader can truly get lost in the pages."

- Leonard Tillerman, LeonardTillerman.com

Five Stars!

"The story of Hank’s quest so far is easy to pick up, even if you haven’t read the previous books in the series, and I was immediately immersed in a dark and terrifying world of monsters, demons and simple folk trying to survive the chaos. Hank is a classic hero straight out of mythology himself, a humble man trying to do what’s right and learning new abilities and making allies along the way. Fans of the classic mythologies and the new classics such as Tolkien are certain to enjoy author Erik Henry Vick’s updated but faithful storytelling style, with over 700 pages of epic concepts and vivid battles to get their teeth into. With its strong narrative, powerful imagery and winding, quest-by-quest structured plot, this mixture of horrid beasts and epic strength is certain to please, and I’d definitely recommend Wild Hunt as a must-read for any fantasy fan."

- K.C. Finn, ReadersFavorite.com

Five Stars!

Wild Hunt by Erik Henry Vick is the kind of stuff I love to read; bold and wild, the kind of fantasy that creates worlds in the reader's mind...

The third entry in Erik Henry Vick's epic fantasy series possesses an originality that is fascinating and I enjoyed the world-building. The setting features well-imagined landscapes, images that suggest magic and the supernatural — there is even a magical feel to the names of characters and places. Fast-paced, and told in an engrossing narrative voice, Wild Hunt becomes a gripping story packed with intense action. It features characters that readers want to stick with, from mythical creatures to unforgiving villains and a hero forging a path through the impossible.

The writing is superb, tight and crisp, with beautiful descriptions that are punctuated with exciting dialogues. The deft handling of conflict is one of the things I enjoyed in this book, and I was keen to see how the protagonist evolved as the conflict escalated through the narrative. Wild Hunt is strong and phenomenal, characterized by physical clashes between powers, yet there is a deeper level of conflict, especially the one taking place in the protagonist's mind that adds to the strength of this narrative. A great read, indeed.

- Divine Zape, ReadersFavorite.com

Five Stars!

"It’s difficult to write a review about the third book in a series without giving away too much, especially for readers new to the series (a word to them: start with book 1, otherwise you will miss out on a lot of fun). All I can say is that it’s a read I have enjoyed a lot, as there was a captivating mix of action, quieter moments, some humor and some characters that are just awesome. As someone who also suffers from chronic physical pain, it was great to see a hero who wasn’t perfect but rose to meet the challenges that were thrown at him, especially in book 1, even though there was so much pain. What a journey! Well done!"

- Kim Anisi, ReadersFavorite.com

A Triumphant Achievement--Wild Hunt is the astonishing culmination of the Blood of the Isir trilogy.

Erik Henry Vick gifts us with some of the most imaginative, vividly drawn world-building you are likely to read. The story is inspired and exceptionally well told. The characters, their dialog and interactions are alive and multi-dimensional; they are made more real than some living people seem to be. The sweep and scope of this trilogy does indeed compare favorably to the LOTR and Dark Tower series. It’s that good. Put these books on your MUST-read list and follow the author. He is surely among the very best fantasy writers working today.

Erik Henry Vick has a lot of King's great qualities but provides a breath of fresh air.

"Where do I begin? I have been completely enraptured since I read the first book in the series: Errant Gods. Hank is such a fantastic character, I love so many things about him; his wit, his courage, his love for Jane, his resilience, and finally, his sense of humor. I could go on and on about Hank but the fact is, I love all of the characters in these books, even the characters I love to hate. Wild Hunt gives so much more depth to the antagonists in these stories; it's a good reminder for life in general. There is always two sides to every story..."

I'm a huge Erik Henry Vick fan...

"...and I was anxiously waiting for this book. It really exceeded my high expectations. Once I started reading it, I could not put it down. I love horror/dark fantasy (and revenge based novels) and this one really fit the bill. It's a very visual tale that really lets you identify with the main character. Honestly, it is the best book I have had on my Kindle in a long while."

Awesome addition to the series!

The saga of Hank and Jane Jensen continues! More powers gained and deeper mysteries explored as they and their Isir, Tverkir and Alf companions continue their fight against Queen Hel and Luka. Do not miss the fierce battles, rollicking one-liners, awe-inspiring Rune magic and new and interesting characters waiting to be discovered!

If you are a fan of the first two books, my god, the third will not disappoint.

"The action just doesn’t stop. I honestly couldn’t find a dull moment in the book. I couldn’t wait to come home and see if Lu[k]a was going to die yet, lol."

I absolutely love this world and these characters!

"This was my favorite book of the series. The pacing was incredible getting to know more and more about the world the forces for and against them and how everything was tied together left me breathless. I'm thrilled that the author left some openings for further tails and spin-offs of this book as the ending of this world would be a crime. Highly recommend the entire series!"


The author has an astounding ability to truly transport you into his world, and the characters are eminently relatable. I got so caught up in the lives and struggles that I found my emotions mirroring theirs. I cried with both sadness and joy more than once during this one. Huzzah Erik for another amazing installment of this series.


Like all the books before this one leaves you breathless and turning each page in anticipation of what is to come.


I have said to the gods and the sons of the god,
The things that whetted my thoughts;
But before thee alone do I now go forth,
For thou fightest well, I ween

—The Lokasenna (The Poetic Edda)

The woman awoke at a wormlike pace, coming back to herself bit by bit as if she had slept for ages. Her tongue lay in her mouth like a dead slug and tasted of a bitter metal, or perhaps blood. Her ears rang with the silence that encircled her, entombed her. Her memory was foggy…incomplete.

She hung in an empty space surrounded by a kaleidoscopic horror of colors and abstract geometric shapes exploding around her. Time and space held no meaning for her, there was no up nor down, only the mysterious sensation of tides pulling at her from every direction. No solid ground existed beneath her feet, no liquid…nothing.

Named Hel, Queen of Osgarthr, rightful ruler of the Isir, her own people had betrayed her centuries ago, and, more recently, her allies—the Plowir Medn—had betrayed her, too. She remembered the foul blue creatures teleporting her away from the battle with that damn cop and his cohorts—she’d almost forgotten fighting with Hank Jensen, but she felt a vague tickle about battling a colossal bear, and then thousands of robots had come at her from out of nowhere. Haymtatlr’s guardians! Her rage was a palpable thing, a beast, alive and clawing for dominance.

Luka was not with her—the Plowir Medn had left him behind as if he counted for nothing—but her mind ran in circles, first imagining Luka was with her, wondering where he was, cursing the Plowir Medn, wondering if Haymtatlr's guardians had killed the Isir. Haymtatlr betrayed me, just like all the others—the Isir, my allies, even my so-called “guides” who abandoned me toward the end of the rebellion!

She drifted in utter silence, lost, bereft—even the voices had abandoned her…those two voices—both unfamiliar, and yet, as intimate as lovers—had she imagined them? The Plowir Medn had named them Mirkur and Owraythu. Hel had never heard those names before, not in all her travels, not from any of the peoples she had visited in her many years of life, and yet…and yet she seemed to know them, to recognize the sound of their voices.

Their names were jokes…Mirkur meant “darkness” in the Gamla Toonkumowl while Owraythu meant “chaos.” The silly blue men claimed they were brother and sister, and worse yet, ancient gods of great power. It made sense that the Plowir Medn would worship deities who claimed to embody darkness and chaos. As a race, they embraced disorder…they seemed to feed off it.

How long Owraythu had kept her imprisoned, she couldn't say. An hour? A day? A year? She had no idea—time was meaningless in this eternally variegated changing pattern of colors and images.

The last thing she remembered was Owraythu saying, “You refused to play by the rules. For that, you will pay the price.” And…

The pain had engulfed her, then. Wave after wave of nauseating agony seared her nerves and racked her body. Her muscles had refused to obey her, even her mouth and throat. She hadn't even been able to scream.

It had gone on and on, just her and the pain. Her senses had shut down one by one, her vision, her sense of smell, her hearing, her sense of touch, and even the taste of her tongue in her own mouth as it dried. Only the pain had been constant.

When the darkness had overtaken her mind, she had welcomed its release, but now she regretted the loss…of memory, of her sense of place in the universe. What did they do to me while my mind rebelled and ran away from the pain? Where am I, and more importantly, how can I escape? How can I get back to my war?

Lyows!” she said into the dead space in which she hung. Nothing happened, and a tingle of fear rattled around her belly like dice in a gaming cup. Her memory of what had happened after Owraythu had told her she would pay the price was fuzzy. She thought something else had happened, but she couldn't pin it down. “Luka! Where are you, my Champion?” she yelled.

Nothing and no one answered her, not even the echo of her own voice. She was alone. A mere mote of sentience in a polychromatic nightmare.
She no longer felt any pain—she no longer felt anything. Her skin was neither hot nor cold—it was as though whatever surrounded her maintained the same temperature as her body. Even the air enwrapped her in stillness…no breeze…nothing.

Owraythu had mentioned something about Hel’s refusal to play by the rules…but what did she mean by that? Was it a reference to breaking the Ayn Loug? Or did it have a more sinister meaning? Hel didn’t know and was not sure she cared.

She drifted through the orgy of hues, the mad finger painting of Owraythu and Mirkur on the satin black canvas of the place in which they incarcerated her. Well, maybe Owraythu alone had created the superfluity of color, since the shades of soot accounted for every tincture on Mirkur’s palette. Her eyelids drooped to half-cover her eyes, and her eyes unfocused. Her mind ran down, thoughts coming slower and slower until she drifted in a fugue of non-thought, of nothingness in stark contrast to the chaos of exploding colors she drowned in.

Time lost all meaning. One moment was indistinguishable from the next. Nothing happened, nothing marked the passage of time—no sun arcing through the sky, no pitter-patter of animal life, no people, no weather, no sounds of sea or wind or war. Nothing.

Just nothingness.

“This one senses you’ve awakened,” said a voice like fingernails scratched across textured glass.

Owraythu, Hel thought.

“As good a cognomen as any other.” The voice seemed to growl from the very air, from all around her, the rumbling staccato of a machine gun nest.

“Why… What do…”

“Cease!” snapped Owraythu. “The time for this one to talk has arrived, and with it, the time for you to listen.”
“Wait a minute! I’m the rightful—”

“Desist in this irrelevant clangor!” Owraythu’s voice thundered, adding artillery barrages to the persistent drumming of machine guns, painful to the ear and brain.

Hel’s jaw and tongue worked, but no sound came out. She could breathe, but she could not speak. She couldn’t even form coherent speech in her own mind.


Half the space around Hel dimmed as if someone had turned down the rheostat governing the saturation of the colors swirling around her. The colors leached out of the nothingness encircling her, and Hel understood the true meaning of nothingness. She tried to turn so that all she saw was the psychotic symphony of shades, but the umbral midnight murk moved with her. Either that, or the sensation of moving was hallucinatory, and she hung motionless instead of twisting like a fish on a line.

“This one does not savor the presence of this…this…this woman. If she can still be cleped thus.”

“This one comprehends your distaste but abandon your disquiet. She will either assimilate, or she will suffer in this crucible of torment this one has created.”

Hel wanted to say she would listen, she tried to nod, to kneel, to do anything, but Owraythu denied her all forms of communication. She hung, speechless, motionless, expressionless.

“She is…” said Mirkur, and his voice abraded Hel’s nerves.

“Yes,” said Owraythu. “She entreats us to reform her errancy.”

“Affirmation. The small one demands correction.”

The darkness seemed to pulse with the arrant lack of light, or perhaps it breathed. Hel couldn’t stand to look at it.

“Her capacity to perceive our realm for what it is reeks of the lacking,” said Owraythu. “Baseness and avarice are the sui generis roots of her psyche, in part—”

“Inconsequence,” said Mirkur.

“Yes, yet her pattern of cognition resides at the root of her error. This small one conjectures her disgraceful creed protects her from—”
“She shall learn.”

Owraythu said nothing, but the paroxysmal bursts of color shouted her pique at being interrupted. At least that’s how it seemed to Hel.

“She will take correction.”


“This one requires that she dwell here in suffering until she grows submissive and—”

“This one assimilates, Mirkur. Leave the chore with this one. The task will consummate in success, or the task shall continue without end, without pause.”

The categorical, tenebrous lack of everything related to light and life faded, replaced by a detonation of color that threatened to sear Hel’s brain. In it, Hel thought she detected a sense of maleficent triumph in Owraythu’s interruption of Mirkur’s thoughts. Like called to like, after all.

“Alone at last,” crooned Owraythu. “Allow this one to begin.” The myriad hues and shades surrounding Hel pulsed faster and faster—like the heartbeat of a sprinting woman. “This one has such sublimities to share with you.”

Buy Wild Hunt to join Hank in the pursuit of true evil today!