I like David Eddings. I'm also partial to Ray Feist. I acknowledge no --well, make that few-- warts and make no apologies for either.
Then there's Stephen R. Donaldson.
For years I had a love/hate relationship with the Chronicles of Ur-Lord Thomas Covenant, Unbeliever, White Gold Wielder, and General Piteous and Loathsome Douchebag. It's resolveditself, by this late date, to "like".
I read both original trilogies. They were good books for the time, an antidote to the oncoming tide of purer Tolkien clones. They're fiercely imaginative, with that cool streak of primativism --sure, there's a ring, but mostly there's just magic rocks, twigs, and mud-- and even when they're running headlong into the most irritating genre foibles, there's still something interesting about them (The One Tree might be the best fat, aggravating, middle-of-the-series book of all time, a string of failures saved by Nom and the shenanigans in the Sandhold).
Plus, I kinda dig Donaldson's names: Drool Rockworm, Saltheart Foamfollower, Hile Troy (eveyr super-secret military think tank needs a Hile Troy on the payroll), Revelstone, The Grieve, the three Ravers, and so on.