The Royal Family, the King's Household and staff, and favored nobles flew to Dragon's Lair; everyone else rode. So when Team Azrael and its prisoner left Middletown for the deliberately-isolated Royal retreat, they were on horseback. Cortin, like most people, had learned to ride almost as soon as she'd learned to walk, and was expert at it, but she quickly found that riding was another thing she could no longer enjoy. She was wearing the back brace Egan had given her for unavoidable strenuous exercise and riding the smoothest-gaited horse in the Base stables--a black Arab named Rainbow--complete with a lambswool saddle pad, but within fifteen minutes she was thinking that maybe disability retirement might not be such a bad idea after all. Without it she'd be spending a lot of time in the saddle, hurting worse than usual. On the other hand, if she got out she'd be spending even more time in the saddle, unless she abandoned her crusade--and she had no intention of doing that. So she just had to learn to endure this, too. At least, she thought, if they had to ride they had a nice day for it. The temperature was still comfortable in the morning sun, and by the time it got too warm in the open, cultivated areas, they'd be in forest shade. And the quiet was pleasant, only an occasional word or two and the soft sounds of leather or hooves on dirt breaking the silence. She could see landfolk out working their farms and ranches, but they were far enough away she couldn't hear them--and they weren't likely to approach a group of Enforcement troopers, especially one escorting a prisoner. Cortin smiled grimly at that thought. Prewar, even Terran, police, from her reading, had gotten the same reaction: civilians tended to stay away, unless they needed something. And civs were even less interested in having anything to do with police carrying out the enforcement part of their duties. Let one get close enough to see an Inquisitor's badge, and lack of interest usually turned into active avoidance of contact; the Harrisons' pleasure at her visits was unusual. At one time, she'd disliked provoking that reaction; now she was accustomed to it, and at times found it useful. She heard a horse speed up slightly, until Lieutenant Bain was riding beside her. "Is anything wrong, Captain?" he asked. "I've been noticing you don't look exactly comfortable." "Nothing that can be helped, thanks. It seems my back doesn't approve of horses any longer, is all." "How bad?" "Late second stage, maybe early third. Nothing I can't handle for a few hours if I have to--though I'll admit I'm already looking forward to stopping for the night." She gestured to the rear, where Degas was leading the unconscious prisoner's horse. "How far did you get on him before Sis tapped him for surgery?"