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Loot, kill, obey
The wreckers have their shipwreck and their loot. Their next step is to get rid of the witnesses.
Grace and Cera’s only hope is to make it to safety in Galti; a small fishing village ignored and forgotten by the outside world. With them are the remaining survivors of the shipwreck: two sisters who have just seen their entire lives sink down into the ocean and the destroyed ship’s first mate.
Unfortunately for Grace, Cera, Hale, Kally, and Derek, the wreckers aren’t the only thing following them to Galti.
What is a necromancer doing with the wreckers? What awaits Grace and Cera in the village of Galti? What secret is Grace hiding from Cera? Who are the wreckers working for? And who the hell is Goedeki Sibli?
One of these questions won’t be answered in Loot, kill, obey, but the rest will.
Grace and Cera’s only hope is to make it to safety in Galti; a small fishing village ignored and forgotten by the outside world. With them are the remaining survivors of the shipwreck: two sisters who have just seen their entire lives sink down into the ocean and the destroyed ship’s first mate.
Unfortunately for Grace, Cera, Hale, Kally, and Derek, the wreckers aren’t the only thing following them to Galti.
What is a necromancer doing with the wreckers? What awaits Grace and Cera in the village of Galti? What secret is Grace hiding from Cera? Who are the wreckers working for? And who the hell is Goedeki Sibli?
One of these questions won’t be answered in Loot, kill, obey, but the rest will.
141 pages, ebook
First published November 2, 2012
About the author
Baldur Bjarnason
8 books7 followersBaldur Bjarnason - that'd be me - is an Icelander who managed to flee the cold, hard, rock known as Iceland just as its economy was collapsing.
My past is of the usual mixture of boring and interesting, almost entirely boring to you because there's no way I'm telling anybody about the insane, stupid, stuff I did in my twenties or about my teenage nuttery.
No I'm not telling. Get over it. Make do with fiction.
My past is of the usual mixture of boring and interesting, almost entirely boring to you because there's no way I'm telling anybody about the insane, stupid, stuff I did in my twenties or about my teenage nuttery.
No I'm not telling. Get over it. Make do with fiction.
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