The War of A Hundred Crowns
an excerpt

Odo swept a spear thrust aside with his sword and stabbed out with its point. The Atan blocked it and stepped back warily, eyeing Odo over the rim of his shield. Until today Odo had never seen an Atan up close, though in his youth a band of them had passed by the walls of Caramasse. His face was long, thin, and sharp, all hard angles and lines lacking curvature beneath a huge forehead. His cheek bones ran diagonally down the edge of his red, scaly face to meet in a narrow jut of chin. Most disturbing were his eyes. Their colour was inhuman, pale orange flecked through with red, and his eyelids blinked horizontally like closing gates. Odo recognised the intelligence in them, the concentration as the Atan watched his movements, checking a swing of his sword and twisting away, stabbing out lightly. Behind them lay a mind equal to his own, he knew. They were filled with hate, and in that they were most alien of all. The Atan didn't look at him with fury, even as they danced over roots, slashing and stabbing and parrying. Those eyes wished for Odo's death, but without passion or virulence. Their hatred was indifferent, one examined carefully and accepted. With recrimination they looked deep into Odo's soul and determined it was not there at all.