The Master's reason is fair, and one Rickard had considered before he even posed his question. Still, it rarely hurts to ask. He wonders how long Crowe was imprisoned before his escape, how their artful interrogators had failed to carve out whatever information was needed.
The more he thinks about it, the more interested he becomes.

He's still pondering this as he bows his head respectfully alongside Septus, still wondering as they exit the large room and return to the hall where the knights had left them. The only thing that draws him out of his fascination is the necessity to prepare for the trip. He already knows which hounds he will brings. Kerr is one, but her brothers will tag along too.

No one has ever accused Rickard Conall of being a skilled fighter. He is, interesting enough, decent with a bow and arrow, or a crossbow; even a sling. With melee weaponry, short or long reach, mace or blade, he is adequate at best. Perhaps this is due to opponents knowing to exploit his blind side; perhaps it is also because he is simply not cut out to be any sort of warrior. It's good that his position does not require exceptional swordsmanship. It's even better than his dogs more than make up for his lack of skill, and the trio he intends to bring with them will no doubt keep himself and his partner safer in the Blasted Lands. 

"I must needs ready the hounds," He says to Septus as they retrace their steps past the thick, heavy oaken doors. There is nothing ornate about them, nothing but slabs of heavy wood to shut away cold rooms. "I think it wise we leave at daybreak. We'll reach that border town, Tenbrook, before the sun is high, spend a day or prodding the locals. Move on from there."